


A Tale of Dusk and Dawn

by caffeinatednightowl



Series: Daughter of Dusk [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst, Au Ra Xaela Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Awkwardness, Crushes, Crystal Tower (Final Fantasy XIV), Crystal Tower Questline (Final Fantasy XIV), Crystal Tower Questline G'raha Tia (Final Fantasy XIV: A Realm Reborn), Drunken Flirting, Drunken Shenanigans, Drunkenness, F/M, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, POV G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch, Pining, Secret Crush, Shyness, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:07:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 34,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27721885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caffeinatednightowl/pseuds/caffeinatednightowl
Summary: G'raha Tia knew the Crystal Tower was where his destiny awaited. Of course, sometimes that destiny is a person, and that person happens to be the Warrior of Light. He came to find a window into the past, instead, G'raha found his future, and the woman he wanted to share it with...if the fates would only be so kind.
Relationships: G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light
Series: Daughter of Dusk [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2024647
Comments: 32
Kudos: 51





	1. The Scholar of Allag

**Author's Note:**

> And here we really get into the Daughter of Dusk storyline. G'raha Tia's such a fascinating character, how could I not pair him up with his inspiration? This work will be based off the Crystal Tower raids, before heading into 5.0. Chapters will be from G'raha's POV, but I'm not ruling out writing from Mara's POV every now and then, though those will most likely be posted as oneshots.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> G'raha can't wait to get stared on the expedition to the Crystal Tower, though little does he know the Warrior of Light will also be joining them.

G’raha Tia, Sharlyan Archeon, Student of Baldesion, last in the long line of the Allagan Eye, ran his hands through his scarlet hair as he paced about his room, staring at his open luggage on the bed. In his excitement and eagerness to get packed, get on the boat to Eorzea and head for the mainland, he forgot one very important fact…

He stared at his rather stuffed bookshelf next to the bed, the worn and well-loved tomes stacked haphazardly in, some shoved in upside town or placed on top of one another, and a tottering tower of recent reads near the bed almost reaching three fulms.

He couldn’t _possibly_ take all the books he needed!

The Crystal Tower…an expedition to explore an Allagan ruin no one had ever set foot in…it was a dream come true. As a student of Allagan history, he had read of the Allagan Empire, their towering structures and fearsome constructs, but to actually be the first to walk into one…the first to see it with Spoken eyes since the fall of the Allagan Empire a thousand years ago…he scarcely knew what to do with himself.

His dresser had been wrenched open, some of the clothes rustled through but next to the luggage was a stack of books, and another stack of books, plenty of ink, a few quills, and leather notebooks, _so many_ leather notebooks. Each artifact had to be properly recorded, cataloged, and the expedition would need a complete log; everything must be perfect so he could present his report to the Studium afterwards…

In the midst of fretting and sorting through tome after tome after tome, G’raha nearly missed the knock at his door. 

His ears flicking towards the sound, he turned, looked back at the door, incredulous. Who on this star come to bother him after he had been sent away, giddy as a schoolboy, with order to pack his things quickly so he could leave on the morrow? He had _work_ to do, books to sort through and either take or leave, and not to mention the few hours of studying everything he could get his hands on about this Crystal Tower…

“Raha!” A shape, small and yellow bounded into his room without so much as by-your-leave. He shouldn’t have even been surprised.

“Krile,” he said, smiling as the Lalafell beamed up at him.

“I just heard the news, I’m so happy for you!” she said, grinning. “To think, all those years slaving away here have led to this! An expedition into an unexplored Allagan ruin, with you as our official Students of Baledsion representative! Though,” she giggled, nodding towards him. “I suppose it was destiny of a sort, was it not?”

G’raha sheepishly smiled, finger on the side of his ruby red Allagan eye. “Don’t say it like that, Krile. I studied hard to get where I am.” He paused, glancing away. “Though I cannot deny a few more selfish reasons for wanting to join this expedition.” From the moment he had been born, the heavy fate of the Allagan eye had hung over his head, just as it had his forebears. He was fortunate, to have had the luck—and the aptitude—to study in Sharlayan, to be accepted into the Students of Baledesion, to even be considered a Sharlayan Archon. Where his ancestors had failed, perhaps he would succeed—learn the truth of this blessing, or curse. He had felt himself on the right path from the moment he stepped into Sharlayan, from the moment he first held a book of Allagan history in is hands. And now, having formally been presented as a representative on the expedition, he knew it for certain.

The Crystal Tower…that was where his destiny awaited.

Krile must’ve seen the bit of wistfulness in his face. “Are you nervous?” she asked, all the gentility of an older sister, despite actually being younger.

He scratched the back of his neck, looking away, leaning against his half-open dresser. “Ah, well…perhaps. ‘Tis my first chance to really work in the field, as it were. And they say it is some joint expedition between the Sons of Saint Coinach and Garlond Ironworks. The Sons of Saint Coinach are leading scholars into the art of Allagan summoning and Garlond Ironworks… _everybody’s_ heard of Cid Garlond. It’s a great honor, to be chosen to accompany them.”

Krile grinned, like a cat on the chase. “Oh, but it’s not just them, Raha. After you left, I heard a curious thing.” She sat down on the bed, shoving his haphazard ( _carefully cataloged!_ ) books aside. “The Scions of the Seventh Dawn are sending someone, too. You know, just in case there are some nasty Allagan constructs still working down there.”

G’raha blinked. He didn’t follow. “Ah, yes, that would be a big help. Though I could perhaps hold my own with the bow man-to-man, who knows how many—or how fearsome—those beasts might be.”

“That’s not what I mean, Raha.” She grinned _wickedly_ now. “The one they’re sending? None other than _the Warrior of Light_ herself.”

G’raha sucked in a breath. _The Warrior of Light?_ Yes, he had heard the tales…A woman who had come from the Far East, a fearsome fighter who had mastered an ancient, primal magic. Allagan summoning, he had surmised from the stories…yet how did a woman from across the sea master such a thing when he himself had never…ah, well. Jealousy on that front was pointless. But often when he was lost in waves of insomnia during the long, cold Sharlayan nights, he wondered if he would ever meet her, this warrior, and learn of her art. How did she discover such ancient magic? How did she master it? What secrets of Allag had she learned that he himself had yet to uncover? He wished he was more competent with magic than the bow at times; perhaps he could’ve asked her secrets, begged to be taken under her wing, to learn this art in hopes that it might aid him in unlocking all the secrets of his ruby eye…

But, wishing for _that_ was pointless. “Is that so?” he said, ears peeking up with interest. “I didn’t think such trifling matters would interest Eorzea’s hero.”

“Minfilla says the Warrior of Light is… _ah_.” If possible, she grinned even wider. “A bit of a book worm, you might say. Apparently she spends most of her free time reading, studying, most of all she is very interested in in the history of Allag and how it pertains to Allagan summoning.”

“Indeed?” He was intrigued now. “At least we’ll have something to talk about.” Perhaps if she would permit it, he could teach her a bit of what he knew, and she in turn…

“Yes, there’s that, and well…” Krile near leered at him. “You know what else they say about the Warrior of Light? They say she is quite fair of face, too.”

“K-Krile!” G’raha stammered, feeling a flush creep up on his face. “That’s not—if you’re implying—!”

“Implying _what_ , Raha?” She grinned, leaning on one knee, palm under her chin in an analyzing gesture. “Don’t tell me you’re shy now, not after all these years of you chasing after girls in the Studium…”

G’raha sputtered again. Yes, it was true, he and Krile had been a bit wild in their teenage years. Sharlayan was a scholar’s paradise. Everything devoted to the sacred art of learning…though people always had needs, and mutual pleasure was seen as a casual affair, bodily urges not to be repressed, but embraced… all so one could get back to studying soon after. Compared to the tightly controlled life of a Tia, G’raha had found Sharlayan to be accepting of anything goes, you might say…G’raha had had men, he had had women, and some who considered themselves neither. Of course, in those early years, he had gleefully enjoyed it, taking what had been denied to him as a Tia and perhaps going a bit overboard…he had certainly mellowed out on that front in recent years. Not to say he was turning celibate, _Gods_ , no, he just…wanted a bit more than a casual, one night fling these days. “I have a few memories of a _certain somebody_ pining over— _ah_ , what was it? That ‘well-endowed’ Lalafell…”

“Never you mind that,” She snapped, eyes flashing in a warning. “Don’t you even start, I have more than enough ammo to finish this and you know it.”

G’raha’s ears flickered back. Yes, yes, she did, he _knew_ it. “Fine. But even so…you’re getting the wrong idea. The Warrior of Light is…by the _Twelve_ , Krile, you know who she is! She saved all of Eorzea! You can’t think I want to meet her because of…because of her beauty.” He gave a little huff, though on the inside, there was a tiny twinge in his heart. _She’s saved all of Eorzea, this woman from the East who has mastered a millennia old art…I would be nothing to her, after all._

Krile sighed, rolling her eyes. “Oh, here you go again. I know what you’re thinking, Raha. You know more about Allag than anyone else on this star, she’s uncovered the secret of Allagan summoning. Of course she’d be interested in at least talking to you. If you start thinking like that, you’re going to be too shy, and then she’ll _never_ notice you.”

Sometimes G’raha _hated_ how Krile knew him all too well. Folding his arms over his chest, he said. “I am not shy. Perhaps just…nervous. How does one speak to someone like that, a savior, a warrior, someone who has accomplished so much more in a short time than many in their lifetime? The Warrior of Light…she works in miracles. I just work in pen and paper. She is like a hero of eld, and I only wish not to be overshadowed…nay, even just to stand as tall as her would be like a miracle. So, to imagine speaking to her as an equal it’s just…you could say it’s a bit difficult.”

Krile giggled, jumping off the bed. “Well, then might as well start coming up with a plan. Show her that playful charm of yours. It worked on _so many_ others.” She gave another laugh as G’raha blushed. Patting him as she walked by, she said. “Don’t worry so much. I’m sure it’ll be…” She froze, eyes widening for a moment.

“Krile?” G’raha asked, bending down. “Is something amiss?”

Krile shook her head, the yellow cat ears on her hood flapping. “No, I just…just a feeling. Like something…” She bit her lip, looking up at him with…worry? Apprehension? But then she shook her head again, clearing it. “Just a thought, nothing more. Promise me you’ll be safe, Raha. Don’t take any unnecessary risk.”

G’raha unfolded his arms with a laugh, patting her on the head. “You know me. I’ll be as meek as a newborn kit.”

“I bet,” she snorted, heading toward the door. “Good luck, Raha. And…” She stopped, paused, and turned back with one last impish grin. “Oh, I forgot to mention,” she said as she opened the door. “The Warrior of Light, she is an Auri, you know. You’ve never had an Auri, have you, Raha? There was that one scholar, Miyu, but she turned you down, didn’t she? Said she wanted someone a little taller—”

“Out, out, _out!_ ” G’raha growled, face full flushed in embarrassment, as Krile cackled on her way out.

As soon as the door was shut, G’raha’s blush beginning to fade, he stepped back toward the luggage, grumbling all the way. Damn her, Krile probably remembered all of their names, didn’t she? Carefully, meticulously collecting them to tease him with later…he really needed to remember that Lalafell’s name, Krile bristled anytime he was brought up…

As G’raha sorted through the books again, this time deciding on a couple and carefully packing them away, he remembered her words to him. _“Of course she’ll be interested in at least talking to you.”_ He hoped so, he _hoped_ so…he had a mental image of an Auri (who looked suspiciously like Miyu, with cream-colored horns and light blue eyes) leaning next to him, leaning _on_ him as they looked together at a faded tome, his hand brushing hers as they turned a page…

He shook his head. He was being ridiculous. Damn Krile for putting that idea in his mind. When the story of the Warrior of Light would be written, he would be lucky to be worth a single sentence.

Still, and adventure, an adventure alongside the _Warrior of Light_ …even just sharing one adventure with them, that would be enough. For one moment in time, he would stand alongside them, a true hero, just as he had wished when he was a boy.

His destiny, his childhood dreams…the Crystal Tower held the key.

 _And_ , he thought, going back to the image his mind had conjured, of the two of them wrapped around a book, hands brushing, tails entwining. _Perhaps, if the stars align, maybe a bit more as well…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Join our [bookclub](https://discord.gg/enabling-debauched-xivfic) for more fic and general debauchery.


	2. Face to Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> G'raha finally gets to meed the famed Warrior of Light, but she's not at all what he expected...

Shadowed light filtered through the gaps in the Black Shroud’s towering trees, the branches swaying and the leaves rustling in the wind. Here, G’raha Tia waited, hidden among the boughs, high up above Urth’s Gift. The giant boar he had slain with a few well-placed arrows lay below; a massive, crumpled thing, and no doubt this would take the adventurer’s notice.

 _Hmm._ G’raha Tia smiled at the thought. _“Adventurer?” Warrior of Light, perhaps,_ if the words he heard from Rammbroes were true. G’raha had not yet met her, but she had already made contact with the Sons of Saint Coinach, already offered her services. If he was right, the famed Warrior of Light would be here any moment.

G’raha kneeled on the branch, looking down for his quarry, like a Keeper poacher on the hunt. His bow, however, he kept on his back; no need for that here, not with the famed _Warrior of Light_ set to appear. (In truth, perhaps he hoped there might be some trouble on the way; then he could see her in action.)

He near held his breath, lest she hear him and catch him at his perch early. He had the whole crossing from Sharlayan to think of a plan, a way to catch the warrior off guard. He wanted to test this famed warrior, see how she reacted. What would she do if her prize was snatched from under her nose, an opportunistic thief seizing what she thought was hers?

Yes, he would study her like another one of his Allagan artifacts. Working with the Warrior of Light wasn’t just something you _did_ , it was something you experienced. For what were mere mortals to Hydaelyn’s champion? _All of us are but passing characters in the Tale of the Warrior of Light_ , G’raha thought to himself, with a small chuckle. _But, perhaps, if I play my cards right, she might remember me, at least._

His scarlet ears perked up as he heard the snap of a twig nearby. She was coming.

G’raha stilled, sure in his hiding spot. She wouldn’t see him, no, he was too well concealed for that. Not just yet…

As he heard the rustle of foliage get closer, he felt his heart pick up, just a little bit. He forced the nervousness away. He was already like a boy, anxious of getting caught with his hand in the biscuit jar. This was but a challenge, his way of sizing up the mighty warrior the Sons of Saint Coinach had appealed for aid. It wasn’t like he was flustered or—

A shock of dark blue broke through the bushes. G’raha’s heart nearly stopped in excitement. _She’s here!_

But…as he took a good look at this adventurer that had appeared, he let out a slow, shaky breath. The one below was small; with dark blue hair, wearing a long, dark blue trench coat. She was Au Ra all right; though her thin, swept back horns were dark as night, along with her dainty scaled tail. But she was so short, small; the smallest person G’raha had seen, minus a Lalafell. Could this really be the Warrior of Light? The famed fighter who saved all of Eorzea, more than once?

No, it couldn’t be.

The Warrior of Light was…she was…well, she certainly couldn’t be the small girl in front of him! She had fought _primals_ , had fought _Garlean Legions_ , had made more miracles happen than anyone would dare dream! She must look tall, imposing; perhaps covered in full plate armor, or hardy leather, covering up handfuls of scars. She studied primal magic, maybe she would be in full gear of the Allagans, with a trail of primal egis in her wake. She couldn’t possibly be so…so…

_Young._

The Warrior of Light had more important things to do than go on fetching things personally from the Black Shroud…yes, that had to be it. G’raha sighed at the absurdity of it all. This must be one of the Warrior of Light’s companions, or friends. Surely they were worthy of such a quest. Oh well; he would meet the Warrior later, that was for certain. For now, he might as well entertain the one the Warrior had sent after him. Looking down at the girl as she stood up after examining the boar, G’raha began in his most mysterious voice, “You are too late, adventurer…”

_~~~~~_

Later, G’raha found himself sitting high above in Mor Dhona, looking upon the Sons of Saint Coinach’s camp. The Warrior had not yet appeared, but at least the day had not been a total waste. The adventurer had held her own against the Ixal as she sneaked around their logging camp, his second challenge. She seemed to be of the arcanist persuasion, given her style of fighting, though the way she fought through Ixal that were a challenge to other men was almost…going through the motions, as it were. She seemed almost bored, playing his games.

Well, that and the glare she gave up upon retrieving the last prize. Clearly, the Warrior of Light’s adventurer friend did not like being trifled with. Oh well; he had meant to test the Warrior of Light, but perhaps he had found out enough. The adventurer had been interesting to watch, annoyed though she may have been. At least it gave him some entertainment for the afternoon.

Now, though…the Warrior was set to appear at any moment. G’raha had gone over this meeting several times in his mind on the passage over from Sharlayan. Sometimes he was waiting besides Rammbroes, and would offer the Warrior of Light an open hand. Other times, he walked up to her, heavy book of Allagan history in hand, only to snap it shut and smile as they were introduced. He had come up with this plan after conspiring to test the adventurer in the Black Shroud but alas, that had gone a bit astray.

Still, G’raha liked the drama of it all. Like the heroes in the books he would read as a boy. So he’d stick to that; might as well make a grand entrance, hope to put on a good show.

 _“Win her over with your charm,” as Krile would say,_ G’raha thought with a smirk.

G’raha looked down, noticing Cid was still talking to the adventurer. Perhaps the Warrior would appear later? Rammbroes had said he had already made contact, but…

The longer it went on, the clearer it became that perhaps the Warrior of Light was not going to appear today. Maybe the fates would not be so kind. Oh well…at least the adventurer had played along.

With another long, disappointed exhale, G’raha stood up at the top of his perch, looking on down below. Rammbroes looked up at him, addressed him, and G’raha called back down. “Greetings, adventurer! Did I not say that we would meet again?”

Always a lover of a good entrance, G’raha felt a small bit of pride in his practiced, perfect, leap from above. Standing up to his full (not very tall, if he was honest) height, he gave a winning smile to her as she stared in incredulity. “I believe an introduction is in order. I am G’raha Tia, one of the Students of Baldesion. Will you be joining us on the expedition as well?”

G’raha barely got a look at her as Rammbroes cut in. “Um, G’raha, you did hear the Warrior of Light was joining the expedition, did you not?”

G’raha turned back to him, frowning. “Yes, I did. I was wondering when I would get to meet her.”

Cid gave a chuckle. “Then allow me to introduce you.” He threw out an arm to the adventurer who just stared back from her violet eyes. “G’raha Tia, Mara Kahkol. Or, as others know her,” Cid’s grin widened. “The Warrior of Light.”

G’raha near stumbled back as if he was struck. “The…the Warrior of Light?” He breathed, looking fully at the person in front of him.

The adventurer— _Warrior—_ was small. Smaller than Miyu, even. He had seen her before, but now, up close, he could see how those deep violet eyes stared, as if taking in everything around her. Her hair, down around her shoulders was as dark blue as midnight, matching the coat she wore. Blue and blacks seemed to be her preferred colors, if her sturdy black, thigh high boots were an indication. She was thin, as if she had missed a meal or two in childhood and never grew. Her hands, pale and dainty, you’d never know how many primals and Imperials she had slain with them. She looked like a woman you would protect, a princess at the end of a castle. Not a warrior whose shield you would hide behind, whose sword would defend the weak. And she was young! So young—How could someone so young journey across the sea, all the way to Eorzea to take up the mantle as a champion—?

She was a _child._

G’raha stumbled on his words. “I…er…I did not realize.”

For that, he did see the smallest hint of a smile on the Warrior’s face. “Not the first,” she quipped, her Eastern accent heavy on her lips.

Cid seemed like he could barely contain himself, if the guffaws behind G’raha were any indication. He felt his cheeks flush as Cid’s companions— _Oh, what are their names? I’ve forgotten—_ the burly Roegadyn and the tiny Lalafell looked incredibly amused, hiding behind the group. And as for Rammbroes, well, G’raha could only imagine the look on his face.

G’raha nervously scratched the back of his neck, looking away. “In Sharlayan, we have heard the tales of the Warrior of Light, but the tales never—no one ever drew us a picture!” He stammered, looking anywhere but _her._

“Oh, aye, I can only imagine what tales they spun back in Sharlayan,” Rammbroes laughed behind him. As Cid and Rammbroes gleefully smirked at the thought, G’raha glanced back to the Warrior—her cheeks had turned the faintest of pinks, as she looked anywhere but them.

Coughing, G’raha cut in, hoping to save her from further embarrassment. “Yes, well, now that that’s settled.” He stepped forward, reaching out a hand. “Perhaps we should do this properly now? G’raha Tia, Student of Baldesion, at your service.”

Violet eyes turned up to him (She was so _short!_ He wasn’t used to this!) as if looking straight through his soul. She looked back down at his hand, unsure, before she took it in a weak gesture. “Warrior of Light…though, you can say me—can _call_ me Mara Kakhol.” She quickly corrected her Eorzean, heavily accented as it were. “Nice to meeting you, Raha Tia.”

That rippled through G’raha like a whip, his unadorned, true name; for a Seeker, such a thing was intimate, personal, or, a challenge. They obviously weren’t intimate, so—His instincts ruffling up, he said with just the barest hint of a warning growl as he let go of her hand, “ _Excuse me?_ ”

“Grr…G’raha.” The Warrior quickly corrected. Only now he noticed her accent had subtly numbed the G from his name, and his aversion settled. “ _Grrraha_ Tia.” She said again, putting more emphasis on it. “Forgive me…Eorzean, it sometimes…Sometimes I have trouble.”

This girl, this _Warrior;_ there was so much mystery to her, like a book full of pages that he couldn’t wait to pour over. She came from the East, just a young, tiny thing, yet had such a heavy destiny placed on her. So many people’s hopes and dreams, their wish for a peaceful future rested on the head of a girl shorter than one of the shortest Seekers, who still struggled with the language. How had she borne it all, being so young and alone?

“Well then,” G’raha started, looking back toward Rammbroes and Cid who seemed to have recovered from their amusements. “How goes the preparations?”

Cid looked down at the aethersand in his hand, thinking. “I’ll need to craft the elemental fangs to get us through the guardians to the base of the Crystal Tower. It should not take more than a day or two at most. The hardest work has already been done.”

“Excellent,” G’raha tried to slide back into the manner of the self-assured historian he had practiced all throughout the trip from Sharlayan. “I don’t suppose we have a name set for our little collective? Given the historical implications of our expedition, we’d need a name that can be written down in the papers, a simple one that can be used to publish our important findings and—”

“What name do you have in mind, G’raha?” Cid cut him off, sounding almost…exasperated?

No, of course not. G’raha smiled, glancing back at the Warrior— _Mara._ As she watched him, almost like figuring out a puzzle. “NOAH was something I came up with. I could claim that NOAH stands for “Nominated Observers of Artifacts Historical,” but the name was also shared by a vaunted Allagan archmagus, so…”

The little Lalafell piped up— _Wedge_ —G’raha remembered now. “Oh, an archmagus! I do like the sound of that! What sort of magic do you think we’ll find in the tower?”

“I would hope…” G’raha met the Warrior’s eyes. “Something old, unknown, and hopefully just a tad bit dangerous.” Oh there it was a gain, just the hint of a smile on her face. “Wouldn’t you agree, Warrior?”

The prospect of ancient magical secrets, of mortal peril seemed to amuse her, her smile widened. “Yes, hopefully. Though I do not know much of history of Allag besides what learned through Allagan summoning.”

“I would be happy to enlighten you,” G’raha said at once, as if she was a junior in the Studium who had asked for his knowledge. “I happen to have brought some books might be of interest—”

“While you’re doing that,” Cid said, turning towards his large tent. “We should at least finish setting up our camp. It will be nightfall soon, and it’s either do it now or do it when you’re half asleep.”

“That means go finish setting up your tent, Biggs,” Wedge teased the Roegadyn as he grumbled, shaking his head, and the rest of the newly-christened NOAH began to depart, tent poles in hand. G’raha had already set up his tent, organized his books and properly cataloged the few artifacts he found while preliminary scouting the site that morning, so he had nothing much to do but wait around. The Warrior, for her part, seemed to stay put as everyone scattered, not sure what to do. After a moment of awkward silence, she turned around, heading away from the camp. G’raha shrugged and followed her.

He should at least have _something_ to say if he was going to lap on her heels like a puppy. “Do you, er…have you set up your tent already?”

She shook her head, giving him a single glance. “No need. I have rooms at Rising Stones, into Revenant’s Toll.”

“Revenant’s Toll?” G’raha looked up the hill, a _long_ ways away. He could barely see that smudge on the horizon that was the town’s gates. “But it’s such a long way! Surely it would be easier if you camped here?”

“I have chocobo,” she said, as if it didn’t matter.

“Still, going back and forth every night, after we face all manner of hazards in the tower…” G’raha felt a little churn of uncertainty in his gut; there came that distinctly male feeling, the need to _protect,_ to be _chivalrous._ He stepped in front of her, cutting off her somber walk towards Silvertear Lake. “You’re the Warrior of Light, you need your rest. I can give you my tent—”

“As said, no need,” she snapped, her violet eyes meeting his. “I have face worse, on littler rest.”

“But you shouldn’t _have_ to.” G’raha blurted out. “It’s no trouble, I can…”

She stopped her slow march, closing her eyes. Now, for a moment, G’raha saw the weariness in her expression, the weight of the years and responsibilities bearing down on her. Now she looked older—young still, but aged through experience. “Fine. But I will not take yours tent. You can help find one for me, if it is what you wish.” 

Now, his smile came back. “All right. Will you need any help setting it up? It might be rough accommodations for a while, I can—”

She stared at him again. “I grew up in a yurt.” She said, flatly.

G’raha felt the twinge of a blush creeping up his cheeks again. “Right, of—of course.” _Xaela,_ he remembered. “Well, let’s see if the Sons of Saint Coinach have a spare one and I’ll leave you to it, then.” As they walked back to the base camp, he felt that little bit of chivalry creeping up again. _It’s because she looks so young_ , he reminded himself, glumly. _Certainly she can take care of herself, but..._ “Well…if you need anything, you can always ask—”

She sighed, turning back to him. “I can take care of myself, G’raha.” She said, her accent heavy, but the words correct, underpinning the seriousness in her voice. “You do not need to coddle me like a child.”

“I’m not—!” _You are,_ he told himself. Pausing, G’raha thought a moment. “Yes, you do not need…But I’m offering. As…as a friend.” He stammered, and scratched his neck again nervously. “Um, if you’ll allow me.”

There was a quiet awkwardness between them, with G’raha’s face heating up and the Warrior’s—well, she always looked expressionless, at least, as far as he had seen, but she seemed to be (just a _bit!_ ) flustered as well. “One thing I would like,” she said, hesitating. “I would…I would know more of Allag. Cid says you are leading expert in history of Allag. Would you teach me?”

His ears perked up. It was what he had offered before, but now she was firmly accepting. “I would be happy to. It may take a day or two for Cid to finish crafting the fangs before we can explore the base of the tower. Perhaps tomorrow, I could…?”

A small smile graced her features. G’raha was beginning to like that smile. “All right.”

The brash historian was returning. “It’s a date, then!” He said, flashing her a smile...before quickly dropping it, ears dropping. “Not that—I meant—I mean I would be happy to share my books with you and teach you some things…if you would like… _Only that!_ ” He stammered, glancing away quickly. The brash historian inside him was currently hiding his face in his hands.

But then the most beautiful thing happened; she laughed. That neutral façade in the Warrior’s face left as she laughed at him, looking delighted. “Yes, I would like that,” she said, smiling back at him. “Only that!” The Warrior repeated his words, with another chuckle.

Despite all his planning going to waste, stumbling and tripping all over his words, for a moment, his heart felt a bit lighter. Maybe things would work out after all…

_~~~~~_

That night, in his tent, G’raha rested on his cot, the chirps of crickets thick in the air. He had gone over and over the scene in his mind, face near red with embarrassment as he stuttered though the entire exchange. He had made such a fool of himself; he had hoped so, so much to impress the Warrior of Light, only to fall flat on his face. Everything about her was so different that he imagined, he was caught off guard from the start. Perhaps the promise of teaching her some history of Allag had salvaged some of his impression in her eyes, but all the same…

He rolled over, his scarlet bangs falling in front of his eyes as he closed them. Worrying was pointless. He might as well stay up all night regretting every time he had put his foot in his mouth throughout his life, and those times were plentiful indeed.

Still…

The Warrior of Light, Mara Kahkol as she was called…She was not uncommonly beautiful, as Krile had suggested, but…

Perhaps she was a little bit _cute._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now truely begins my self indulgence of my love for flustered!G'raha. 
> 
> Also, join our [bookclub](https://discord.gg/enabling-debauched-xivfic) for more fic and general debauchery.


	3. History Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> G'raha would know more of the Warrior of Light, if she would be willing to share.

While the Warrior of Light had been quiet, reserved before, she perked up immensely with the promise of knowledge. The books, the older the better, the more fragile the better; G’raha gleefully showed her the collection of tomes he had carted from Sharlayan. The Warrior seemed to blossom as the morning went on, her unreadable expressions being replaced with smiles and unwavering glances. He had first brought her one of his largest, heaviest books—a primer on Allagan history, a battered old thing earmarked and well loved—but, upon being asked for more clarification, he had to return to his tent for another book, and another, and before he knew it she was in there with him, sitting on the canvas floor of the tent, a book on Allagan emperors spread in her lap, watching him wax on the finer points of the Allagan Empire.

“So, that is why the Crystal Tower is such an important historical find,” he said, leaning back against the trunk at the foot of his cot. “There’s so much to learn; so much we do not know about the last days of Allag—the things we could uncover might change our entire thought of the empire itself.”

The warrior smiled, turning a page to see a lithograph of the first Emperor Zande. “I do not know much of Allag, it seems. But, G’raha, is there anything you not know?”

He chuckled, her occasional slip-ups of Eorzean so charming now. “I don’t know much of Allagan summoning, to be honest. But, I was told you might be an expert in that field.”

She almost blushed at the compliment, glancing away and pushing a lock of her navy blue hair behind her dark horn. “Not ‘expert.’ The field of arcanist has descended from summoning of Allag. I just…happened to be good at it. I was lucky Sons of Saint Coinach allowed me to learn their findings. Though, I wonder if…perhaps if I had not met Y’shtola, Y’mhitra would not have agreed try to teach me. Perhaps I am not so talented—”

G’raha leaned over as she continued to look away, self-conscious. “Forgive me, we only heard stories in Sharlayan but…Is it not true that you faced the primal Ifrit alone? And you beat him? I’ve never heard of any other arcanist doing that. They say you summoned an egi of water, conjured a tidal wave that cast him down and destroyed him before he could do more harm.”

The Warrior closed the book in her lap, folding her hands above it. She gave a slow nod. “That was…before I knew I was this ‘Warrior of Light.’ I was just…Mara. Just Mara. And Mara was terrified, alone, scared, and had not been in Eorzea long. But when Ifrit could not temper her, she knew she had to fight. Or die.” She took a slow breath, looking up to the canvas top of the tent, remembering. Her violet eyes were dark, as if she could still see the flames of Ifrit’s rage in them. “I could summon a carbuncle, I had mastered the basic spells but that…it just came at once to mind. Fire, so would need water. I thought of it, looked at my grimoire, begged for a spell of water…and it appeared. It wasn’t…it wasn’t a true egi, not like Allagan summoning, was very weak but for that…it was enough.”

G’raha stared at her. This girl—this _woman_ , maybe—she was small, tiny, she looked like such a fragile thing but she had faced down so much danger. And she had lived. She had a power in her that very, very few could master, all before she became the Warrior of Light. Perhaps she hadn’t become strong _because_ she was the Warrior of Light, perhaps she had the strength all along.

“I always wanted this, you know,” she said, with the hint of a sad smile on her face. “Power…to be strong, to protect those weak…I wanted to be a warrior, a Warrior of the Steppe. In the end, I had to leave the Steppe, but here I am.” Her smile turned into an ironic smirk. “A warrior.”

When she looked back at him, mismatched eyes met a deep violet, he felt a sort of pull to her, a magnetism not unlike when he found a new artifact, or stumbled upon an ancient, dusty book. He had to know _everything_. “How long ago did you leave the Steppe?” He asked, mouth dry. “How old were you?”

Putting the book aside, Mara curled her knees up to her chest. “I think…perhaps a year? I spent some time studying at arcanist guild in Limsa Lominsa before…Well, I was eighteen when I traveled across the Ruby Sea.”

 _“Eighteen?_ ” G’raha stared, a hand on the canvas floor of the tent to steady himself. She was but nineteen at the oldest…Gods, she had faced down Ifrit, a certain death to anyone else when she had _barely_ no longer been a child. No wonder she looked so young. She _was_ young. “If you don’t mind me asking…why did you leave?”

There was something there, something in the way her eyes quickly looked away. “I could not study magic of arcanist without coming to Eorzea,” she said, shrugging as if it was nothing more than a question of the weather. “No one could teach me there. Besides, my tribe…I was not a warrior of Kahkol. I would not…I was easily replaceable.”

He knew she was not telling the full story, from the way her eyes looked anywhere but him, to the way her knees shifted against her chest, but G’raha didn’t push. Instead, he decided to indulge in a little curiosity. “I heard a bit of the Steppe tribes, how they’re all so different; some with different languages even. Can you tell me about yours?” Perhaps that was a happier subject.

She shifted again, awkward. “Kahkol is…our tribe is not like others. Some are born into Kahkol but many, most, we come to Kahkol because we have no other place to go.” Mara lifted her hand up to her neck, twirling around a strand of her dark navy hair, a nervous gesture, not unlike how he always seemed to scratch his neck in awkwardness. “Kahkol takes in all who are left behind their tribe, who need a place to stay. No matter what, Kahkol will grow.” She sighed. “But we are weak. We do not have many of warriors to fight. Other tribes, they try to raid and take what is ours. Our food, our sheep, even our people. They do it because they can. So to live as Kahkol, you must think of tribe before you—yourself. Must be _useful._ ” The word was heavy, thick with spite. Glancing back at G’raha, Mara spoke quickly, in a rush, “You asked of language. We speak common Xallic, but many knew Hingan. Hingan is language of Reunion, for trading. In Reunion, I learned Doman, it is close to Hingan, and also started learning of Eorzean, but I did not know it well until I came here.”

Yes, there was definitely something there, something dark that clouded her thoughts when she spoke of home. Perhaps, for him, it was the same…he didn’t like thinking much of his past living with the Gryphon tribe. His Allagan eye had earned him scorn, and he had been shunned by everyone, even his own father; for who would want to associate with a child clearly marked by doom?

“You speak Eorzean very well for learning in such a short time,” he said. When she turned back and gave him a funny look, he quickly corrected, “I mean—that is to say—I’m sure having to speak it day and day out helped—not that I’m patronizing you, I just meant that—!”

She chuckled at his discomfort. “I know it is not perfect…Hingan, Doman, both are very close as similar. Eorzean is…it is so different from what I know. But I try.”

That intense deep violet gaze, as dark and enticing as moonlight looked at him, as his mismatched eyes widened. “Something wrong?” G’raha asked, his cheeks heating up.

“Now, your turn.” She said, pointing a finger at him. “Cid, he said something about you being from…ah, what was it? ‘G Tribe.’ Is it like Xaela tribe? But I don’t understand. Is not ‘Tia’ your tribe? If you were to be polite, should you not be called ‘Mr. Tia?’”

G’raha blinked. It took him a second to figure out what she meant, and then he couldn’t help it, he burst out laughing. “What is it?” Mara stammered, this time it was her cheeks that were turning the faintest pink. “What is so funny?” He held a hand over his mouth as he laughed, though now at her reaction; all that iciness gone. “Go on, laugh,” she said, pouting, sticking out a plush bottom lip. “I do not know all of your Miqo’te ways!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, feeling the tiniest bit sorry for her. She had so much to learn. “I know, you didn’t know.” He cleared his throat, explaining. “Yes, I am from the G Tribe. You mentioned you had friends in the Y tribe, I believe? That is our differing tribes, much like your Kahkol. ‘Tia’ is just an honorific given to males in Seeker tribes. I’d assume most Seeker men you’d meet are called ‘Tia;’ it’s not like the Nunhs can really leave the tribal areas for fear of losing their place.”

“Losing their place…” She mused. G’raha noticed her eyes were on his scarlet tail, lazily tracing circles on the canvas floor. Interesting how her own tail (dark, scaly and short as it was) just curled up neatly next to her, while his own was nearly constantly moving. “Sounds a bit like a Khan. Though if anyone wants to challenge tribal Khan, it’s a fight to the death.”

“Oh, we have that too,” G’raha chuckled. “Most tribes don’t actually fight to the death anymore, but unless the Nunh retires willingly or dies, a Tia has to fight to challenge him for the place. Then he becomes the new Nunh. I never cared, but for some it’s worth it; only the Nunh has breeding rights in Seeker tribes.”

“I see…” Now she looked a little uncomfortable. _Well, it is what it is._ She was young, after all. Mara scrunched up her eyebrows, as if puzzling something out. “If only Nunh has breeding rights, does that mean Tias are sons of Nunh?”

“Well, not always but…usually?”

“So if a Tia takes over as Nunh, he has breeding rights on all females…and those females are daughters of the Nunh…does that mean…”

G’raha felt a flush rush up the back of his neck, vividly remembering a time in Sharlayan when one of his casual lovers, a dark-haired Hyuran woman, had sat up straight in bed in the middle of the night and asked him point blank if he ever became a Nunh, would that mean he would be sleeping with his own half-sisters.

He had stumbled over his words, reminding her that he was a Tia, and had no desire to ever go back to his tribe, much less become a Nunh, but the words didn’t seem to placate her.

She never visited his bed again.

In any case, due to _ah,_ prejudices and assumptions about Seeker culture, G’raha thought he might steer the conversation away from this train of thought. “I left my tribe and haven’t been back in a long, long while. I felt much more at home in Sharlayan.” He said quickly, rubbing the back of his neck in awkwardness.

“It seems we are the same,” Mara said, “We both left our homes for somewhere to belong.”

G’raha didn’t respond, holding to that thought. He could pity her all he wanted for leaving her home, traveling so far away, perhaps never to see them again but had he not been the same?

He still wasn’t ready to tell her about it, though. The Allagan Eye…his left eye may be the key to his destiny, but it had weight on him heavily for most of his life. It wasn’t until Sharlayan, until he met Krile, really came into his own that it felt less like a weight, less like a curse, and more like a curiosity. Something to make him different, not to mark him as unequal.

But the G Tribe…they were stuck in their old ways.

 _Sad memories…_ He thought to himself, glancing back at her. She had her own burdens, her own memories that weighed upon her shoulders. But he could understand it, nay, he could _admire_ her for it; whatever hung over that head, whatever memories she carried, she had risen up stronger, wiser from it.

Those memories had made her who she was today.

“You’re pitying me,” she said all of a sudden.

She must’ve seen his expression. “What? Sorry no, I was…” Well, he couldn’t very well tell her he was sitting her in awe of her and her strength, could he?

Mara shook her head. “No, I understand; I see that look. I see it every time someone learns I am Warrior of Light. ‘You are too young!’ they think. They wonder what tragedy I have seen. I have seen things, yes, but I stay the course. I have to, I must.”

“Because you’re the Warrior of Light?”

Her violet eyes narrowed. “Because I am _myself_. Mara, of Kahkol. Nhaama preserve, I never have to give up that title as well.”

“Nhaama?”

“The Dusk Mother,” Mara explained, looking up to the roof of the tent in reverence. “ _Our_ Mother. Mother of all Xaela, Guardian of the Steppe. She watches over us, just as Father Azim, Dawn Father, to the Raen.”

“Azim…” G’raha thought a moment. “I wonder if the name is related at all to Azeyma, goddess of the sun. She is our patron goddess.”

“Oh yes,” Mara looked back at him, chuckling. “You do look like you have a bit of sun in you.” She gestured towards his fiery red hair.

“I could say the same of you. Your Dusk Mother certainly blessed you,” G’raha met her chuckles as she gently wound a strand of her midnight blue hair around her finger.

She smiled back at him, lifting G’raha’s heart up just a bit. Of dusk and dawn they were, both children lost from their tribes, far from home…and yet fate, it seemed, brought them together.

But...G’raha couldn’t continue on this thread. She was the Warrior of Light, he would be nothing but a blemish in her history. “Ah, anyway, what were we speaking of before? The first Emperor Zande, was it?”

She looked away, violet eyes dark. “Yes, I think so.”

They went back to their books, him to his rambling lectures, yet every time he leaned over a page to turn it, to point to some place on a map she held, G’raha noticed his long bangs would sometimes mingle with her hair. Fiery crimson to midnight blue. Night and day. Dusk and dawn. 

The Warrior…Mara…she opened up to him, they had spoken together, laughed, but tomorrow, the expedition to the Crystal Tower would begin in earnest. It would begin, and soon it would end. At least, for now, he would value their friendship.

For how many could say they were friends with the Warrior of Light?

He would take what she gave him, and be glad of it. For as soon as the expedition was over, he knew she would forget him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I assume that most Nunhs do not fuck their half sisters. It is most likely a racist assumption that's been passed around. However, if I had to have have this shower thought inflicted on me, then so should you.
> 
> Join our [bookclub](https://discord.gg/enabling-debauched-xivfic) for more fic and general debauchery.


	4. The Tension Between

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> G'raha is denied a chance to head into battle, and wants to pout. But Mara has other ideas...

Pouting, G’raha Tia sat on a rock nearby the Sons of Saint Coinach camp, staring back at the thick of tents lit in the purplish light of the afternoon. They had returned from their investigation of the outer structure, and with the four Sentinels destroyed, his blood had sung with anticipation of exploring the whole tower. Oh, how he had imagined it, stepping foot into that ancient Allagan structure with Mara at his side, as they fought with bow and book against all manner of monsters and constructs, but alas…

 _“We should wait here while Mara and her companions clear out the base structure,_ ” Cid had said, so calm, as if he wasn’t currently crushing the dreams of a certain ginger Miqo’te.

“ _Your knowledge of ancient lore will be invaluable as we examine the structure and the rubble for ancient technologies, G’raha Tia.”_

Ah yes, he was a _historian_ again, a bookkeeper, someone to be kept out of sight and out of harm until the real work had already been done!

His hands had tensed on his bow, after he had already shown off a bit of his skill firing an arrow towards the barrier. G’raha had wanted to argue, wanted to point out that he was as trained as any of they were; besides, he would be with the Warrior of Light, and would come to no harm. But the words died on his tongue; they sounded like the pleas of a _child,_ not a man of twenty-four years.

But he couldn’t help the way his teeth grit, remembering a lifetime of _Stay back, G’raha_ , _Go home, G’raha_ , and _I don’t want you to get hurt._ They treated him like a delicate thing, a fragile flower, that one swift breeze could sever from a branch at any moment. Just because he was a scholar didn’t mean he didn’t know how to take care of himself. Just because he had not trained with the G tribe warriors and had to learn archery on his own did not mean that he was _weak_.

He had always loved books, yes, and scrolls; old and dusty things that held ancient secrets. But growing up, when he saw his siblings learning under the watchful eye of the Gryphon Tribe captain of the guard, he longed for that, too. To prove himself. To become strong, able to protect those he cared about. Of course, they had discouraged it, _You’ll hurt yourself, G’raha_ ; _Find somewhere else to be, G’raha._

Swords were heavy, lances too long for his short body, so he had taken to sneaking a bow out of the armory at night, practicing when it was too dark to retrieve any ill-shot arrows. Finally, he was caught, but the captain was impressed, not upset, and he was allowed to train with the bows, for a little while.

Not long afterward had he been sent to Sharlayan, to the Students of Baldesion. Without a proper tutor in Sharlayan, his archery skill could not increase very much, but he kept at it. He wouldn’t be wrong to say he was probably the best archer among all the Sharlayan scholars (though, that might not be saying much.)

Still, he was confident he could carry his own weight. He had been brought in as an observer, hadn’t he? An observer needed to _observe_. If he could not actually see the Warrior of Light in action, how then was he to properly record the expedition? How could he witness all this history being made, history being unfurled if he was not actually there to _witness_ it?

Of course, Cid had tried to placate him, playing him up. _“I could not possibly properly catalog all these Allagan artifacts without your knoweldge, G’raha Tia. Might I ask your assistance in cataloging them while the Warrior journeys within?”_

To them, that’s all he was. A historian, an eccentric, nothing more than someone Sharlayan had pressed upon them to interfere. To them, he was _weak_ , he needed to be _protected_ , like a fragile, priceless artifact, not a man of flesh and blood perfectly capable of defending himself.

To be considered something unworthy, unable to stand tall on his own, especially in front of the Warrior of Light herself…

Sighing again, G’raha shook his head. No, he needed to—he needed to let this go. For the sake of NOAH, he needed to focus on his job. Leaning back against the rock, he took out his leather bound journal where he was writing his report. _At the base of the Crystal Tower lies a giant structure we have called the Labyrinth of the Ancients. Into this ancient Labyrinth the Warrior of Light will journey…_

One of G’raha’s ears swiveled back as he heard footsteps. Looking up from his spot, the Warrior of Light approached him, twisting a lock of her midnight blue hair in her hands. “G’raha?” she asked, a bit apprehensive.

Looking back at her between mismatched eyes, G’raha set down the quill and slowly closed his expedition log. “Shouldn’t you be preparing? The first venture begins tomorrow morning, does it not?”

Mara shrugged. “I do not need much time of preparing.” She glanced away for a moment, as if…nervous? “I wanted…I mean of, perhaps I thought…G’raha, are you upset? That you cannot go alongside with us?”

G’raha’s ears lowered. Ah, so he had made that big of a scene, had he? “I am just frustrated, I suppose. I had rather hoped that—that I would not be left behind. That I would have a chance to walk inside with you.” _Beside you, as an equal. Not behind you, inferior._

Sitting down on the rocks next to him, Mara shrugged. “Cid is being safe,” she said, slowly. “We know not what will find in there. Could be very dangerous—”

He blurted out before he could stop himself, “Yes, but I can handle it! I can hold my own! I am able to face danger, I just—” He reached out almost, but to what he was grasping, he didn’t know. Sighing again, he lowered his hand. “I need not burden you with these thoughts. I just don’t want to be left behind. This expedition, we will learn so much and I just—I want to see it all, with my own eyes.” She was looking at him, her deep violet lost in thought. Meeting her gaze, he said, “Surely you can understand that.”

She nodded, folding her knees up to her chest. “I do know that feeling. I wanted—I wanted to see the world, see so many things. That is why I left the Steppe—well, one of many reasons.” She took a breath, and G’raha noticed her fingers clench along her side; yes, still something painful with those memories. “But you are not ‘lesser’ for it, G’raha. You know so much about Allag—more than I could ever imagine! You taught me many things, and—”

“But that’s different!” G’raha near jumped to his feet. She stared at him as he looked down at his own two hands, his worthless, unworthy hands—“I am a scholar, aye, but I just—I hoped I might be something _more!_ An adventurer, a hero, I don’t know—I—” Closing his eyes for a moment, he remembered a time, long ago in the mountains of Illsabard… “As a boy, I read stories. Stories about heroes, and great champions, and I wished for nothing more than to be one of them. To stand as tall as the heroes of eld…Yes, I would say that was my greatest wish.” He opened his eyes, teal green and deep red. “But fate did not have that in mind for me. My eye, my Allagan eye—that was the key to my destiny, I knew. Destiny led me on the path of a scholar, of knowledge and learning and I am glad of it, but…” He ran a hand through his bound hair, unable to look at Mara as he continued. “I cannot help but wonder…if I could’ve chosen my own destiny, where would I have gone? What would I have become? Perhaps I would’ve been one of those great heroes…if only.”

He didn’t expect her to listen. Maybe some part of him hoped she would brush him off, tell him he was being ridiculous, and that would be the end of it. But she did not. Her eyes turned toward Silvertear Lake on the horizon, to the great Keeper of the Lake as he stood his silent, lonely vigil. “I wonder sometimes too,” she admitted, softly. “I wanted to learn arcanist magic, to see the world. So I left my homeland…I had nothing when I came to Eorzea, nothing but an old grimoire. I found arcanist guild, I learned. I learned fast. I saw many things across Eorzea. I was…content. I was not a hero, I was just Mara…” She closed her eyes, and G’raha knew behind them she saw Ifrit’s flames. Felt the heat of the Inferno, that fiery wind on her face. “But Hydaelyn had other plans for me. When I became ‘Warrior of Light’ I was seen as great warrior. A true hero. Finally, I was strong. Strong enough to protect those I care about. I could travel the world; I had enough gil in pocket and knew enough people to get anywhere I wanted to go. I had everything I wanted back then, _everything_ , and yet…” When she opened her eyes again, for a moment, she did look like the child he had taken her for. Her voice wavered as she said, “Sometimes…I miss just being _Mara._ ”

G’raha unclenched his hands, meeting her. What _right_ did he have to complain, when her problems were so much more than his? He should not have burdened her with this, not when she had so many more burdens to carry. Still… “Do you ever, in the dark of night, regret it?” he asked softly, her eyes glancing back to meet his. “Leaving your home?”

She shook her head. “No. Do you?”

“Never.”

Mara gave him a soft smile. “Then maybe we should be happy; all of it led us here.”

A small part of his brain answered, _Led me…to you._

Feeling the faintest blush in his cheeks, G’raha awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. “In any case…it is not for me to complain. After all, the task of facing all the might of the tower falls on you, Mara. Much as I would love to join you, you are the more experienced after all. You are more equipped for it.”

Instead of agreeing with him, Mara stared; blinked. “Do not think it,” she said, looking at him as if…impressed? “You can do things I cannot, after all.”

G’raha gave a cold laugh. “Oh yes, _Allagan history_. Expert though I may be, in combat situations, I’m afraid—”

“No, I did not meant that,” she said, shaking her head. “You have something you are better than me in battle.” She pointed to the bow that he had lain against the rock. “Archery. I am not—I have never been able to shoot arrow straight.”

G’raha _stared._ Really, for all her experience, all her power, there was something he bested the Warrior of Light at? “Truly? I did not think—”

She gave another little smile, looking up at the clouded sky. “Why you think I took to learning magic? Magic from Eorzea? I never could learn ways of fighting in Steppe. Swords were too heavy. Spears too long. With thaumaturgy, I even—” She giggled a moment, looking quite _cute_. “Tried to use fire spell once. Blew up in my face! Only the magic of the arcanist could I master. When I tried bow, I missed—often fired so wild, we could not find arrows later. Missed targets by yalms and yalms.”

He had seen her fight that day in the Shroud. It was so hard to believe that the Warrior of Light could be so clumsy, even with a discipline she did not know. Thinking on that, an idea came to him, something he would like very, very much. “If you want, I could…” He scratched the back of his neck again, face flushing. “If you would like,perhaps I could teach you? How to fire a bow, I mean.”

Her violet eyes practically lit up. “Really? You would show me? I’ve tried it before, but I don’t think…”

G’raha smiled. “I cannot say I am an expert, but I might be able to help, at least.”

She _sparkled_ at the thought. Standing up, she said, “Can you? Please?”

“What, _now?_ ” He said; she walked towards him, almost _too_ close, he leaned back just a little bit, keeping a respectable distance; he didn’t want her getting the wrong idea, after all. “I mean, if that’s what you want I…” He glanced back toward the tents. “Give me a minute to gather some things. That we can meet, let’s say, by the lake?”

_~~~~~_

Silvertear Lake shine a bright, clear blue despite the Mor Dhona gloom. Along the shore, near a relatively flat area, G’raha set up a single target he ”borrowed” from the Revenant’s Toll guard. As he took his bow and prepared the arrows, Mara watched him, eyes wide, attentive, like he was a professor in a Studium lecture. “The hardest part about archery, I think,” he said, nocking the arrow, “Is you have to do it in one fluid motion. Nocking, pulling back, releasing, all of them must be done precisely. But to do it right, it must all flow together…I guess.” He said, feeling almost nervous. This wasn’t like a lecture on Allagan history, he wasn’t used to her _staring_ while he spoke. “Like this.” G’raha turned back to the target, pulled back on the arrow, the muscles in his arms that were revealed by the sleeveless vest tensing a moment, before he released, letting in fly. In a swift, accurate motion, the arrow whizzed through the air, hitting the bullseye in a loud _thwack!_

When he glanced back at Mara, her eyes quickly darted from his arms to the target, the faintest of blushes on her cheeks. “Right. Just like that—one motion.”

As she stood up from her spot, G’raha handed her the bow. “Here, you try.”

She looked a little unsure, but when she took the bow in her small hands, a little fire of determination lit her violet eyes. “Hmm…” Taking the arrow he gave her, she raised the bow toward the target, nocking the arrow, pulling it back—

“Wait,” G’raha cut her off. “Not like that. Your position I mean. Your elbow needs to be higher.”

Mara adjusted. “Like this?”

“No, worse. It needs to be higher and your foot—“

Now she moved too far back. “No, no, your body needs to be one direction, pointing like where you want the arrow to go—”

She sighed, lowering her arms. “I do not understand. My arm need to be higher or what?” She adjusted her foot again, but G’raha could see with that position, the arrow would fly much too high.

“Here, let me,” He said, stepping forward, before curling around her body to help her out.

As soon as he touched her he felt fire racing up his fingertips; levin in his veins. He sucked in a breath, and immediately her scent was all around him; like old parchment and jasmine flowers and some fragrant, eastern spice. He had caught a whiff of her scent that day in the tent, but now it was flooding his senses like the finest of perfumes. His face grew hot as he carefully positioned her arms to hold the bow straighter, tighter. “There, and then, one foot—like this—” He leaned against her even more, and if she leaned back just a bit, she could curl her head up against his chest—despite the haze of _whatever this was_ some primal part of his brain knew that she fit so well against him, like a missing puzzle piece.

He let go of her like he was burned. “Like—like that,” he said, almost panting, shaking. What—in all the _Hells_ —was wrong with him? She was _the Warrior of Light_ , and younger than him besides—he needn’t start blushing and stumbling all over his words like a lovesick kit—

 _Aye, she’s the Warrior of Light, but a woman first_ , that primal part of his brain said. _And she’s only five years younger, still a woman grown._

He clenched his fists, forcing his eyes to look at the bow in Mara’s hands, and nothing more. No, no, he would _not_ entertain these thoughts. He just—he just had not been with someone in a while. Yes, that had to be it. When he got back to Sharlayan, he could find another lover, and scratch whatever itch this was. Perhaps that handsome Keeper that he always saw reading in the corner of the Great Library. Oh, what was his name—?

Mara released the arrow, it flew through the air and with a resounding _thud_ , it hit—on the edge of the target.

“Oh!” she said, gasping in surprise. “It hit! G’raha, did you see?”

“There you are,” said G’raha, laughing, glad to put _those thoughts_ away for the time being.

“I’ve never been able to hit target before!” she said, near giggling in joy.

“Never?”

She shook her head. “Never once. I—I thank you.” There was that smile, that smile that was starting to melt away some of the walls around his heart.

He wanted to see that smile every day. “Well, go on then, see if you can do it again.”

“Oh—okay!” she said with determination, nocking another arrow. _Thud!_ A hit—on the other side of the target. Five more arrows, all five of them hit—never the center, but always managed to hit that target she aimed at.

“Maybe with practice, you’ll be a better archer than me,” smiled G’raha, taking the bow back from her.

“Oh, I do not know,” she looked back at the target, smiling. “I am always better with magic.”

“You’ll keep that crown between us, I’m sure. I would’ve liked to be a mage, but I never once had the time to learn.”

Mara’s eyes flashed with that determination again. “Then—here!” she unclasped the book at her waist, made of what looked like shining Allagan metal, shoving it into his arms.

“This is…?”

“Arcanist magic!” she said, that joy sparking in his eyes, melting his heart again. “Go on, try!”

“I don’t think I can—”

“Of course!” She gestured back over to their makeshift target arena. “You taught me how to fire arrow, right? Now, it is my turn.”

G’raha was certain he would not take to this as well as she had taken to archery. “If you’re sure…” He hesitantly opened the grimoire, flipping to a page. “Summoning a carbuncle, then?”

“Oh, no, no! That is much too hard,” she said, reaching over, flipping back the pages. Their foreheads touched as she did it, dark blue bangs mixing with crimson red, and G’raha felt that levin racing through him once more. “There!” she pointed down at…something. It looked like a geometric pattern, but there was something very primordial about it, an ancient power stirring beneath the surface. “Start with beginning. Ruin.”

He stared down at the page, feeling very foolish. “Um, what am I supposed to do?”

“You need to _feel_ it in your mind!” she said, gesturing widely with her hands. “It is similar to Allagan magic, surely can’t be hard for you? Memorize the pattern, conjure the spell.”

“Mara, I’m staring at it and I don’t—!”

“ _Feel it!_ ” she commanded. And well, he did _try._

Staring down at those figures, those patterns, they began to swirl in his vision—he hoped he was doing it right—there was something there, some power that seemed to be sleeping—His Allagan eye, his right eye, began to sting—

G’raha thrust out his arm to conjure the spell and…nothing happened.

“Hmm.” He said, staring back at the book.

“Try again,” she said, cheerfully. “I think you can do it!”

He _tried._ But stare at it all he might, it just didn’t add up—like he couldn’t unlock the final piece—

Suddenly a bolt of darkness raced out from the book, he gasped, fell back in surprise, smacking his head on the hard Mor Dhona rock. The dark ball flew into the air wildly and dissipated, but it had been there, he had seen it.

Laughing, Mara leaned down over him, her dark hair brushing his shoulders. “See! I knew you could do it!”

The rush of fire again. Heart pounding in his ears. Her face was so close to his…too close…and she leaned over him like, like….

“Yes, thank you for…for your tutelage…” G’raha said, quickly sitting up, shifting her backwards, _away_. He looked _anywhere_ but her, hoping that somehow his red hair would disguise the blush on his face. “But I don’t think I am cut out to be an arcanist.” He handed her back her book, careful not to brush her fingers. Was it his imagination or did she look a little…disappointed?

They sat in silence for a while, staring back at the Keeper of the Lake, watching over them like a guardian. “Should we not go back?” asked Mara, turning to him, whatever had been on her face gone now. “For—for lunch?”

“Oh, no need to worry about that,” said G’raha, opening up his pack. He hadn’t known how long they would be out here. “Here you are,” he withdrew a sandwich and handed it to her. “I hope this suffices for a moment. I’ve been told I’m quite good at making them.”

Mara gave him a small mocking smile, almost of doubt, taking it in her hands. After a single bite, she said. “Oh, this is good.”

G’raha took a bite of his own sandwich, leaning back against the rock. “Maybe I’ll make them again for you, sometime.”

When she smiled, G’raha could’ve sworn it was brighter than all the stars in the sky. “I would like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there are any real life archers out there, I am sorry if I got anything wrong. I go try the archery at the Renaissance Festival every year, and only ever hit the target once so I know nothing.
> 
> Join our [bookclub](https://discord.gg/enabling-debauched-xivfic) for more fic and general debauchery.


	5. Thoughts of Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> G'raha receives a letter from his mother.

With the Labyrinth of the Ancients quieted for the time being, G’raha found himself at leisure. The actual structure of the Crystal Tower—Syrcus Tower, as the ancients called it—lay beyond, that was the realm of the engineers to uncrack. The door was shut tight, and all of the Ironworks’s attempts to unlock it had so far fallen short. G’raha had checked in while cataloging the artifacts and writing his report, but every day was the same answer. “We’ve tried this, we’ve tried that, but perhaps there is more we can try…perhaps the answer lies in Allagan tomes?”

Yes, G’raha was certain the answer lie somewhere in his vast vault of knowledge. And so he—he and Mara, mind—had taken to scouring his books looking for any clue. The Allagan Empire had many constructs, many great wonders, and who knew what out of context snippet may be the key to the very heart of the tower?

G’raha certainly didn’t mind _too_ much, and the Warrior of Light didn’t seem to mind being recruited for this task either…

“Perhaps there was an answer in Allagan summoning?” G’raha mused, looking up from his book. They were sitting on the floor of his tent again, with her laying on the floor, arms folded, staring at an open book while he sat leaning against his trunk. “Is there anything you might’ve learned?”

Mara looked back at him, lips pursing in thought. “I do not know. But I do not think—it does not seem to me that Crystal Tower is related to discipline of Allagan summoning.”

G’raha shrugged. “Your teacher is from the Sons of Saint Coinach, is she not? Perhaps she could shed some light?”

“Mmm, perhaps,” Mara turned back to the book, brushing a stray lock of midnight blue hair behind her dark horn. “I could write to her. And what about you? Anyone in Sharlayan may know of answer?”

He lifted a finger up to his face, thinking. “There were a few Allagan scholars there, but…I am not sure. There is so much we don’t know about the Crystal Tower. I’m fairly certain no one knew it _existed_ until it arose in the aftermath of the Calamity. If any of our tomes referred to it, it would have to be in a roundabout way.”

Mara giggled. “You disappoint me, G’raha Tia. I thought you know everything of Allag.”

G’raha flashed her a grin. “The beauty of Allagan history is that we know so little; there’s so much more to discover around every corner. Indeed, I think—I think the tale of this expedition will be told for generations. I must endeavor to make sure my report is interesting.”

She chuckled back. “Make sure you write good things about me.”

“No matter what I write, the tale of the Warrior of Light will be told over many stories, in hundreds of ways. Your legend will live on into the future, I think, providing hope and a beacon of light for generations.”

She paused, frowned. “Yes…it will be.” Mara looked back at him, forcing a smile on her face. “And you? What will stories say of Great G’raha Tia?”

G’raha waved her off, “Oh, I am not important enough for tales to be told about me.”

“Why not?” She sat back up, staring at him with her violet eyes, those deep, violet eyes that always pulled him in like a whirlpool. 

Why did she always have to _do_ this? Look at him as if he was worth something? As if he was her equal, equal to the _Warrior of Light?_ “Because…because I am just a scholar. Just a supporting character in the story. Who would want to hear tales about me?”

For a moment, her eyes looked downward, hesitant. “I would,” she said, quietly.

G’raha sucked in a breath. Could she mean…? No, no, she couldn’t possibly…He parted his lips, steeling himself for the courage to ask…

The flap on the tent rattled, and Wedge poked his head in. “G’raha—oh.” He said, glancing at Mara where she lay on the floor. Both of them quickly looked away from one another, the moment broken. Waddling inside the tent, the little Lalafell handed over a letter to him. “You got a letter. Guess it’d be one of your Sharlayan friends, huh?”

“No one else knows I’m here,” shrugged G’raha, taking the letter from him as Mara forced herself back to reading the book. The letter was strangely thick, as if it was several pages. Looking at the address, he smiled. “Oh, it’s from Krile!”

As Wedge let himself out, Mara chanced a look back at him. “Is that friend of yours? Should I leave?“

“No, no, it’s fine,” he said, leaning back down against the trunk. “Krile is…she is a good friend. Best friend, I’d say. She was one of the first I met back in Sharlayan when I first came…she was always my mentor in the Students of Baldesion. She’s more like a sister, at this point.” G’raha chuckled, opening the envelope. “An annoying, nagging little sister, but she is kind nonetheless.”

“Sound like a good friend indeed,” Mara smiled back, turning another page in the book.

“I can’t wait to share with her everything I’ve learned from this expedition, she’ll be so thrilled.” Opening the envelope, G’raha could see that there was a letter from Krile, but it was wrapped around another envelope—a second letter? Curious, G’raha unfolded the first and read;

_Raha,_

_How are you? How is your little expedition going? We’ve heard that progress continues apace since you’ve joined—I hope you won’t keep all your discoveries to yourself! All the Students of Baldesion are cheering you on in your absence; it’s so nice to have one of our own among what may be one of the greatest discoveries of our era._

_I may not be here when you get back; I am headed to the Isle of Val for a visit. Sharlayan can be so dull sometimes, and I long for the beauty of the isle, from windswept valleys to the rippling marshes. I expect by the time I return, you will have so much to tell me! You must especially tell me of the Warrior of Light—what is she like? Is she what you expected? I_ anxiously _await your report on this matter, especially—_

G’raha glanced up at Mara as she turned another page, lost in reading. Blushing slightly, he looked back to the letter. He could almost see Krile giggling as she wrote it…

_Oh, there is one other matter. A letter came for you shortly after you left. A letter from your mother. You do write to her, don’t you, Raha? It’s just—perhaps it is the echo, but I just get a feeling every time I hand you a letter from her, as far between as they are, that it radiates a bit of sadness. She does seem to miss you dearly, no matter how things were in your childhood._

_Well, take care, all right, Raha? I cannot help but feel that there is some danger still in this expedition. Maybe it is just me worrying but…_ There was a blot on the page, as if Krile had paused the pen over the paper before continuing to write. _Just take care of yourself. And promise me you’ll come back._

_With all my heart,_

_Krile_

Oh, of course. G’raha looked at the other envelope in his hand, that was addressed in a neat hand that he remembred well. Krile was righthe hadn’t written to her often, and letters he sent back were few and far between. It wasn’t that he disliked his mother, it was just that…

Mara was still engrossed in the book, unaware of the unease in his gut. Sighing, G’raha opened the envelope and took the letter in hand.

_My dear Raha,_

_I have not heard from you in some time, though that is to be expected. I am sure you are very busy with your position there with the Students of Baldesion, studying as you always have. I often imagine you there in Sharlayan, nose in a book as always, excitedly writing notes down for your next big report. When word reached me that you had been made a Sharlayan Archaeon, I couldn’t have been prouder, and I am sure you are working hard to rise to even greater heights._

_Illsabard has been fairly chilly this year; the mountains are capped with snow even at the height of summer. But we are all taken care of, the nunh sees to that. Two more babies were born this year, both girls. Some joke that the Gryphon tribe might start taking a second nunh, for ours has been very fruitful._

_He is ill again, the old ailment returning as the weather starts to turn. I am sure, like always, he will bounce back. But the tias swarm as they do, G’taka Tia leading them on. G’taka is always at the nunhs side, caring to his every need. Petra claims her son wants nothing more than to care for his father, but I think G’taka is carving his place, so to speak; None of us doubt that the day the nunh steps down, G’taka Tia will take his place. Some ask me if you would consider coming back to challenge him for it, but as much as I would love to see you again, I tell them I do not think it is in your plans. And so, we must be apart._

_My dearest son, sometimes I wish—I wish you could still be here, with me. I have no other children you know, and despite the company of my sisters, their children, it can be a lonely existence. I would not burden you, not when you are busy, but I would hope—I know you were never happy here, and I am sorry for it. Forgive my mother’s pleading, but I wish someday you could find it in your heart to visit. I long to see your face again; to see the man you’ve become. But this is your choice, I cannot make it for you._

_I await your next letter, whenever it comes. They bring me so much joy, as do you, Raha._

_Your mother,_

_Sarai._

G’raha swallowed the lump in his throat as he folded the letter back up. If his mother had meant to fill him with guilt, she had done it expertly. He knew his mother was lonely, that he hadn’t seen her in years and years, he didn’t even write to her as often as he should, but—

_Mud slammed into the sides of his face, splattering all over his chest and hair. G’raha, a child of only ten years, pulled his hand away, caked in muck, staring in horror. Far, far away, at the very head of the campsite, sat the nunh, leading the tribe in their annual harvest feast. Turning to his left, G’raha saw who did it; G’taka smirked and laughed as his other friends cheered him on. Jeering, they covered their right eye on their own faces—G’raha’s Allagan eye. The eye of destiny, or, as most in his tribe would call it, of doom._

_Both of his eyes filled with angry tears, as his fists clenched. Crying out, G’raha lunged toward them, wanting to unleash all the pain and anguish back at them that he had felt his whole life—_

_A gentle hand pulled him back, cradling him in her grip. “Stop, Raha, at once!” she commanded in a firm whisper. Sighing, she pulled out a handkerchief, wiping away the mud and tears._

_“But mother--!” he began, glancing back at the boys. They laughed and pointed as he was held back, coddled by his mother._

_“Not in front of the nunh!” she hissed at him, grabbing his arm, pulling him away. Away from the feast. Away from the nunh. Away in shame._

That was just one of many memories—his mother could never protect him. No one could go against the nunh’s will. And if the nunh would not punish them, his own sons, then who could?

 _They called her a whore for bearing me_. _They called her a whore and yet, she never thought to take us away._ It didn’t matter that G’raha had his father’s crimson hair, as many of the nunh’s children did. The nunh could not possibly sire a son marked with such a horrible eye, right?

The tribe had certainly never regarded him as such. And the nunh—the only kindness his father had ever shown him was one day, while G’raha sat book in hand, trying not to cry as G’taka had teased him endlessly, the nunh deigned to sit down next to him. G’raha had stopped crying immediately, sitting up as straight as he could, but the nunh never said a word; just staring out to those snowy mountains in the distance. After a long moment, the nunh said, “My father—your grandfather—he died shortly after bearing me, no one remembers it but…one of his eyes was red, too.”

Then he stood up, walked away, and hardly ever spoke to G’raha again.

He felt a long suppressed ripple of anger in his gut. How could she ask him this, ask him to come home when she _knew_ how he had suffered, how the happiest day of his life was when he got the letter informing him he had been accepted to the Students of Baldesion—

The best thing that had ever happened to him was leaving home, and that had never changed.

“Are you all right?” G’raha pulled himself from the memories, seeing Mara looking up at him. Oh…it must’ve shown on his face. “Is something wrong, with your friend?”

He let out a slow breath. “No.”

She pulled herself into a sitting position. “Did something else happen?”

He didn’t have to tell her. He could make something up; or just tell her it was none of her business. She would understand; she had secrets and bad memories, after all.

But something in the back of his mind kept him on this course—maybe, maybe she would understand. “It’s…I got another letter, from my mother.”

She sat up straighter, alarm on her face. “Is something wrong? Your mother or father ill or—”

“No, no, she’s fine, as far as I am aware. The nunh is ill again, but it’s an old ailment that comes and goes; nothing to worry about. It’s just…” G’raha leaned his head back, staring at the canvas roof of his tent. “I did not have a happy childhood. And every time I receive a letter, I’m reminded of it. The last person to have the Allagan eye in the G tribe was my grandfather, and he died so long ago many do not remember. For every time the Allagan eye reappears, disaster strikes the tribe, or, so they say. War came to Illsabard soon after I was born, that was enough for many to prove the stories true.” G’raha swallowed, chancing a look back at Mara—she was staring at him, listening intently, but her dark violet eyes held that look, that _pity._

He didn’t want her _pity,_ but there was something to be said for finally getting it out. Pulling up one of his knees, he rested an arm on it. “The kindness people showed me was few and far between. My mother was ridiculed for having such a child, and could not defend me from their actions. The other children, the tias, especially, delighted in tormenting me, and so I grew up with books as my only friend. Sometimes I was taken pity on, like when the captain of the guard allowed me to learn the bow, but mostly, people avoided me like I’d bring down a calamity on us all.”

Mara was quiet. After a long moment, she asked, “So your mother never…did your father—?”

“The only kindness the Gryphon nunh showed to me was confirming that I was indeed his child,” G’raha snapped, the words thick on his tongue. “I may as well not have existed.” G’raha’s hand on the canvas floor closed into a fist. “I was so happy the day I could finally leave Illsabard behind, and never see any of them again. That’s never changed, but…” The fist opened, and he sighed. “Perhaps if my mother had tried, tried to protect me from it, gave me more happy memories than sad ones I might…” He couldn’t meet her eyes now, giving a dark chuckle. “I am truly a horrible son. Leaving her all alone while I only care about my own adventures. No wonder Krile always chides me to write to her. I suppose you think I should write to her more often, too.”

“I can understand home having sad memories,” she said softly. “Not wanting to remember—is it not such a bad thing?”

“But shouldn’t I have a responsibility?” He dared look back at her, sounding almost pained. “Is it not selfish of me to—?”

Mara only shrugged. “I can understand, of wanting to be selfish. I think—I think more than you know.” She folded her hands in her lap, looking down. “Only answer is this, G’raha. Do _you_ want to write to her?”

“I…I don’t know,” he breathed, letting the words slip past his lips. “But I feel admitting it makes me the worst sort of person. She says she loves me as her son, aye, but I wish…I wish she had done more to _show_ it in the past.”

“At least she know where you are, that you are well. For all Kahkol tribe know, I am dead at bottom of Ruby Sea somewhere,” Mara gave a small, cruel laugh. “You have done better than me, in that. And I was not treated as you were, it was just…no one understood. None of them.” There it was again, that pained look in her eyes. But now G’raha saw it for what it was—guilt.

Without thinking, he reached a hand over, put it on top of hers. “You do not have to tell me if you do not want to.” When her eyes met hers, deep violet to red and teal, his face turned hot—his hand burned at the contact. He quickly pulled it back. “That is—to say—“

She gave a chuckle. “It all right. When I think of home, my feelings are…mixed, I think. The Steppe is beautiful, great open grass sea—you can see for malms and malms and malms. To get on horse and ride for hours, smelling the grass, feeling the warmth of the day—nothing in this world like it. But, when I lived as Kahkol…” Here she paused, rubbing one of her hands over the other in her lap. “I told you once how it is to be Kahkol. Our tribe is small, weak. We grow by taking in those with nowhere else to go. But to be Kahkol, you must place tribe before yourself, always. That is how we survive. Everyone must be useful. I was—I was no different. I was good at picking up on language. So, I was sent to Reunion—to markets. To trade. Kahkol trades in different things; anything we can sell. I would trade, bring back money to tribe, head out again to buy what needed. That was my purpose. At least job was interesting—not like sitting around, spinning wool. If I were another person, maybe I could have be happy with it. Could have been content.”

She swallowed, looking into her lap. “But I was not. I dreamed of other places. Of seeing far off things. I wanted travel; adventure. I wanted to be free, free to go where I want, see whatever I want. But that—that is not way of Kahkol. But I think—I could’ve kept it all a dream if…” She trailed off, paused. “I wanted to be Steppe warrior. But I was not good with their weapons. I wanted to be strong enough to protect them. But it nothing more than a wish until I found an old grimoire…I practiced, in secret. Began learning ways of arcanist. I realized there was magic I could learn, magic I was _good_ at—but to learn properly, I needed to go to Eorzea.”

Mara paused, glancing away for a moment. “If I had been allowed to train as warrior—if they would’ve let me use that magic, I could’ve stayed. Perhaps I would have, especially after…” Her hands tightened in the fabric of her long blue trench coat. “The Steppe tribes…the strong ones prey on the weak. I was taken in by Kahkol long ago because my original tribe attacked. The same tribe often came after us, stealing what we had. One day I was watching sheep, and they came again. I used my arcanist magic to hold them off, scare them, I even summoned egi for the first time! They ran away, and I did it, all on my own. I protected my tribe, as I had wanted! I thought ‘Finally, they must let be warrior!’” She sighed, shaking her head. “But they did not. Despite that, despite saving them, protecting them…I was Mara, of Kahkol. And to them, Mara of Kahkol was the trader, the interpreter, certainly not a warrior. And never would be.”

G’raha listened on, staring at a lock of her hair that had fallen in front of her face. He wished he was brave enough to tuck it behind her horn, take her face in his hands, and tell her that no matter what they had thought of her, she was worthy. She was strong. And she had been worthy and strong even before she became the Warrior of Light.

But G’raha Tia was a coward.

“I knew I had to leave.” Mara swallowed, closing her eyes. “I left them alone to follow selfish desires. Now they are without interpreter, trader, and most important, no one to protect them. If Dotharl come again, our warriors will not be enough. They will take our sheep. They will take our food. They may even take our people. And I won’t be there to stop it.”

“You cannot blame yourself if they won’t accept your help, Mara.” He said, fighting the urge to take this woman in his arms, to _hold_ her. “You cannot save everyone, especially people who do not want to be saved.”

“I am the Warrior of Light,” she said, her eyes dark, deep. “Should I not?”

“You are only one person; how can you be expected to bear the weight of the world on your shoulders?”

She didn’t answer, only looked away again. “It not just that,” she said, softly. “When I left, I hurt someone. Badly. For the Steppe—and Kahkol, especially—Nhaama bids her children be fruitful. So you marry, bear children, populate her lands. After I had done my part—trading at Reunion—it was to be my fate, to serve Kahkol.” She couldn’t meet his gaze, the words spilling out now, tumbling from her lips like falling over a precipice. “He had been a friend, he had been the only one who stood up for me—who understood what I wanted, who was willing to help me fight for it. But…” She shut her eyes tight. “But what he wanted…I could not give. I do not want to stay in one place, live a boring life, and he never wanted to leave the Steppe, so…in the end, it was for me to break his heart. I wish I could’ve found a way to thank him, for his kindness, for his friendship, but I did not. I broke his heart and left without another word.” Now, she turned back to him, giving him a sad smile. “I suppose it was only way it could be. I will never be in one place for long; who would want a woman dragging them halfway across the world and back?”

G’raha would not let himself think of an answer to that. He _could_ not.

“I guess…” Mara looked a little bit unsure, twirling a bit of her midnight blue hair around her finger. “I know of what it is for home to have sad memories…and to not want to think on it again. So, I understand if you want to forget as well.”

G’raha felt as if his mouth was stuck closed, forcing himself to keep it shut, for fear of saying something too much; something over the line. The line was thin now, barely a thread, but he could not allow himself to cross it all the same.

She was a _friend_ and that’s what she would forever be to him, no matter what he…

His hand almost moved of its own accord, he captured her cheek, turned her back to him; but he couldn’t let it linger there. He felt that tingle of fire and let it happen, felt the lightning race to his heart, and let it go. Brushing that stray lock of hair behind her dark horn, G’raha said, “You need not feel guilt about following your destiny. I did the same. And that brought us here.”

_Brought me to you._

Her cheeks tinted the adorable shade of pink. “G’raha…how is it you always know what to say?”

He laughed softly. “You don’t know me well at all if that’s what you think.”

She chuckled, and he lowered his hand, feeling the burn still lingering beneath his fingertips. “It’s funny,” she mused, smiling slightly. “I meant to comfort you, yet you comforted me.”

“I would—” He paused, mouth dry. “I would always want to help you. After all—” The levin in his veins suddenly turned cold as ice, anxious churning in his gut. He swallowed, clarifying. “We are friends, are we not?”

 _Friends,_ that’s all they were, _friends._ He had to beat this into himself, had to let it stay that way _no matter what—_

Her face fell. “Yes, of course. I—G’raha—” She leaned closer to him; her scent surrounding him once more. The line was tensing stretching, being pulled to the limit— “Thank you for…for sharing. And listening in turn. Sometimes I feel that—I have no right to complain. Even though you have your own sorrows, you listened anyway. You did not need and I—I thank you.”

“Of course,” he pulled back, the moment ruined. “Whatever you need of me, you only need to ask.”

“Because I am Warrior of Light?” she asked. Only he could sense it—that tiny bitterness in her voice.

“Because you are _Mara_ ,” He said, as her eyes met his once more, pulling him back into those dark pools. “And you deserve all the happiness in the world.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Join our [bookclub](https://discord.gg/enabling-debauched-xivfic) for more fic and general debauchery.


	6. Song of the Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A moment of reprieve before the expedition into Syrcus Tower begins.

G’raha Tia dreamed in blue and gold. Of twinkling crystal, glowing red lines. He dreamed of islands floating in a green sky, pulsing with aether, corrupted and twisted creatures lying within. He dreamed of eyes—red eyes—staring back into his soul, wishing for something, _waiting_ for something.

In sleep, all his dreams faded into that deep red—and he awoke with the color in his mind.

But in wakefulness, his daydreams were of midnight blue. Of dark pools of violet.

After being stuck for so long on the mystery of how to access Syrcus Tower, somehow the answer had found _them._ G’raha Tia had thought it odd that the “Students of Baldesion” had sent more emissaries, particularly ones that he had never heard of, but he had not objected. Yes, it was suspicious but…they had the eyes. The Allagan eyes. He could not turn them away.

Clones, Allagan clones. And clones of royalty, besides. They opened the tower for them, true, but all the same, G’raha felt uneasy. He was bound to fate by Allag, and now, bound to them as well. How would this all play out, once they had explored the tower and uncovered the truths within? He knew full well Unei and Doga knew much more than they were letting on, but it was not the time to press—not when so much was at stake.

 _So, Emperor Xande II is merely Emperor Xande I reborn,_ thought G’raha, staring up at the tower as its spire pierced through the Mor Dhona gloom. _And a genocidal maniac? Of course he is._ Nothing was ever easy, much less when the Warrior of Light was around. Though Mara almost seemed—cheery at the prospect of laying down an ancient undead emperor. She had perked up throughout the whole ordeal, especially when—

 _“Nero?”_ Cid had sputtered, staring in horror as the man—a _Garlean_ , G’raha had surmised—strode forward, smug smile on his face. “ _What in the seven Hells—you’re alive?”_

While Nero and Cid continued to bicker, Mara had leaned towards him, smirking. “I fought him once. Not surprised he still alive. He is like cockroach.”

G’raha had chuckled back, highly amused that Cid was exasperated at someone other than him, for once.

Yes, Mara had reasons to be pleased. She would get to explore the tower again, get to be a hero again, while G’raha…he would be left behind, left to wait like a sailor’s wife, awaiting their return. “The truth of the eye lies with Allag…” This he had known since he was a child, but how could he find the truth of his eye if he could not be there to _see_ such truths revealed?

Speaking of truths…His eye had ached from the second he met Unei and Doga, and he had known from the start they had a part to play in all this. They had alleviated one of his fears, aye— “ _You inherited the trait from your father’s line, you said? Know this; clones are unable to bear offspring. You have no cause for concern.”_

“No cause for concern,” Doga had said, though G’raha wasn’t so sure.

_“I cannot explain why the Royal Eye runs in your line, but I am disinclined to think it a coincidence.”_

A coincidence? No, G’raha was _certain_ it was anything but.

_“Have patience, all will be revealed in due time.”_

Patience…G’raha had never been patient. He had never known how. Always, he had rushed forth into what he wanted, and damn the consequences. It was a skill he would have to learn; though he may need a hundred years to learn it.

At least he need not wait any longer for some answers. The tower had been opened; the Ironworks had a few more preparations, and then Mara could begin the expedition once more. As much as G’raha had hoped he would find in the Labyrinth, he knew the Crystal Tower—Syrcus Tower, as it was known—would hold even deeper secrets. How could it not, locked as it was?

 _The truth lies with Allag_. Now it was just up to G’raha Tia to _find_ it.

Turning away from the tower, G’raha headed back to the Sons of Saint Coinach camp. With the tower opened, the Ironworks and the Sons together fretted about, getting everything in order. It stood to reason—especially with a crazed undead Allagan emperor about—that the expedition into Syrcus Tower might be much harder than the one into the Labyrinth of the Ancients, and so they had to be well prepared. The Ironworks had called for all hands from Mor Dhona, to bring with them any technology they could scour that might be of use in there, while the Sons of Saint Coinach put their heads together to try and decipher any Allagan relics they had to hint at what horrors the Warrior of Light might face.

The world was turning, ever onward, and yet, G’raha Tia felt like he was being left behind.

“Ah, G’raha!” Cid called him over, gesturing towards some large, glowing device.

At least he wasn’t invisible.

“How fares the preparations?” asked G’raha, narrowing his eyes at…whatever it was.

“We’re still setting up the aetherometers, but they’ll be fully functional soon. They should allow us to monitor the tower’s aether—and warn if any sudden surges arise. Whenever a new route was unlocked in the Labyrinth of the Ancients, we could detect a small change in the tower’s aether, but not pinpoint it to a direct location. These aetherometers are much more precise, and can give us exact measurements.”

“How much are they going to be needed, exactly?” G’raha raised a crimson eyebrow. “The Labyrinth was one thing, but with the tower, there’s really only one way to go…” He gestured toward the pinnacle of the tower.

“It’s not just for pathfinding! We can also use them to detect when a threat appears within the tower.”

They already knew that too; the main threat awaited at the throne at the spire. But, Cid looked so _happy_ to be working on technology, G’raha didn’t argue. “How much longer do you think it will take for everything to be ready?”

“Not much longer, I imagine. Now all that remains is for the Warrior to see to her preparations.”

“She won’t take long; she’s not one to take too long with these things.” Sometimes, G’raha wished she _would_.

“Might as well tell her we’re almost ready. If we finish calibrating, we could venture within tonight; though I imagine she might want to wait until morning.”

G’raha shrugged. “Mara’s not one to fear the night sky; that much is true.”

Cid laughed, “No, she is not. Tell her anyway, won’t you?”

At the beginning of the expedition, G’raha would’ve _seethed_ at being some kind of messenger, some kind of _errand boy._

Now, though…

Though it was midday, the shores of Silvertear Lake were overcast; the purplish gloom of Mor Dhona settling in. G’raha couldn’t even see the tip of the Keeper of the Lake, their slumbering protector in all the fog; for he slept soundly indeed, blanketed in ceruleum clouds. They were a light purple, lavender, not at all that deep violet, like—

_A vision of her eyes, gazing up at him through dark lashes, looking on him as if he was the most interesting thing, the most precious thing in this world._

G’raha shook his head violently to clear the vision. No, _no!_ This would not— _could not_ —he would not allow himself to think of her that way! That line, a fraying string, stretched to its limit, was all that held him back from—from—

From doing something he knew he would regret.

Kicking a pebble on the shore, G’raha let out a small, frustrated growl. She was the _Warrior of Light_ , she was a _hero_ , a _legend_ , one of the most powerful creatures on this star. And she was _beautiful_ besides; young and beautiful and every waking moment he was around her he felt as if all his worries, his old sorrows just floated away…

 _You are just friends, and when this expedition ends, you will part_ , he thought, a mantra he repeated to keep himself firmly grounded. _When this is over, she will forget you_.

Aye, she would forget; for he was nothing compared to her; a scholar, but no warrior, no hero. Maybe clever, but certainly not dashing, or particularly witty. G’raha felt like a bumbling idiot when compared to her, who had mastered an ancient art thought lost through sheer _willpower._

She was a _goddess._

G’raha Tia was simply mortal.

He’d never be worthy of her. And thus, it was better to abandon it before it began.

Besides, it was just a summer’s fancy; to be gone with autumn’s chill. She was, indeed, _dazzling_ , but beyond that, it meant nothing. When it came time from them to part, he would move on. He was sure of it.

He _must_ move on.

Oh, what was he even doing? G’raha turned away from the Keeper of the Lake, away from his melancholic musings. This was ridiculous. They had an expedition on the horizon, so much work to do. He hadn’t even finished his report on the Labyrinth exploration, he needed to pull himself together.

He had told Cid he would speak to her, didn’t he? It wasn’t like he could avoid her forever.

_Though it might be easier if I did._

Her tent was farther away than the others; perhaps she liked the solitude. Hers was the only one facing the lake itself; every morning, when she left her tent, G’raha imagined she had a beautiful view of the sunrise, the waters of Silvertear Lake stained copper.

Approaching her tent, G’raha felt a strange trepidation, a fear of crossing into the unknown. For a moment, he was a little boy again, a sad little boy who had grown his bangs out to hide his strange eye. Perhaps he should just…call out to her, and let her respond? Yes, that would be the proper thing, the _polite_ thing, after all, barging into a woman’s tent without permission seemed so…

That was when he heard it; the song.

The light winds of Mor Dhona carried it to his ears; they perked up at the sweet sound. The words were strange, almost mystical, wrapping around him like a spell, pulling him under. Like a siren’s call, he was drawn to it, unable to stop as his feet moved him forward. Whatever magic beckoned him, he could not fight, he just followed it willingly, captivated.

His hands moved of their own accord, reaching out to the tent flap as he could not stop himself—

When he walked into her tent, he froze, entranced.

Mara knelt in the middle of the tent, green and gold fabric folded in her lap. She sewed, needle in hand, fingers moving methodically in long accurate stiches, practiced. While she worked, her eyes were closed, and she sang. It was a soft, melancholic song, but G’raha knew not the words. He sucked in a breath as his heart gave a resounding beat in his ears, feeling like prey in a spider’s web.

She opened her eyes, those beautiful, _beautiful_ eyes, and didn’t stop, merely finished the last line of the song, ending it on a long, sad note.

And then silence came over them.

“That was…” G’raha breathed, words failing him. “Er…” _Say, something, damnit!_ He couldn’t bear to meet her gaze; he turned it to the fabric in her lap. “What is that?”

“This?” Mara lifted it up; G’raha could see it was some sort of coat, forest green with gold accents. “It is…well, it is project I am working on. While studying with Y’mitra, Sons of Saint Coinach showed me some information on old tomestone; ancient Allagan summoning garments. I wanted to recreate it.”

“You worked out the pattern just by looking at it once?”

“I _did_ save a copy,” she said, waving another tomestone by her side at him. “Also, I know how to sew well enough—had to mend garment somehow, back in Steppe.”

Well, that was true...though the small talk about the coat did nothing to cut the thick tension. “And…” his mouth was dry; he swallowed. “And the song?”

Her eyes were downcast as she smiled; sadly. “’Tis a song of the Steppe. Words are in Xaellic, you can’t understand them but—Is a song of Nhaama and Azim. How they destined to part, never to share sky again. For as much as they fought, there was longing there as well.” She rubbed the fabric between her fingers for a moment, that sad smile on her face. “Songs…they all I have left of my homeland, now.”

“All you have left?” G’raha repeated, sitting down on the floor of the tent, next to her. “Truly?”

She nodded. “I had—I had to sell everything to make it cross the sea to Eorzea. First was my horse, name was in Xaellic, but it translates to ‘Dusk’—”

“Isn’t your chocobo named ‘Dusk?’” G’raha asked, and when looked back to him, the tips of his ears felt hot; foolish.

Yet she just gave him a little smile. “Xaela have many words for ‘dusk,’” she explained. “Yes, she was a good horse, the best—I left her with a family in Doma. They will be kind to her, I think. She should be taken care of, for rest of days.” Her fingers began moving again, sewing another stitch, than another. “Then I had to cross Ruby Sea. Ruby Sea is guarded by—I guess you call them ‘pirates.’ You must pay toll to cross. But toll is steep. Cost me every coin I had, just to get to Hingashi, to Kugane.”

She closed her eyes, sighing. “But it wasn’t enough to get me across sea to Eorzea. For that—everything I had, not counting clothes on my back. I even…” she hesitated, one of her hands drifting to her collarbone, to grasp something that wasn’t there anymore. “My mother’s necklace—My father gave it to her, carved it out of jade himself. For Xaela, we give jade to our beloved. She died when I was young; necklace all I had. And yet, to get to Eorzea, I had to sell it.”

G’raha didn’t know how to respond; how could he? She had more strength and resolve than he could ever have, willing to give up what was worth so much to her, just on a hope—just to come _here._

“I came to Eorzea with nothing but clothes worn left. Arcanist guild has uniforms, so I put them aside—kept them in my trunk. But…” Her fingers paused again. “Months later, when I was introduced to Scions of Seventh Dawn, the Garleans attacked headquarters. I kept what gil I saved in that trunk. Garleans must have found it, must have assumed trunk held other valuables so when I returned…it was gone.” Now she looked back at him, dark purple eyes to his mismatched own. “So yes, all I have left now is songs, memories—and I carry them with me, always.”

“Songs are…yes, they certainly…” G’raha didn’t know how to respond. _Idiot, say something!_ “I know a few songs myself. Of—of my homeland, in Illsabard.”

“Really?” she smiled a bit at that. “You should sing for me sometime.”

“I suppose I will,” he replied, almost at ease. At least she didn’t look so sad anymore. That’s all he ever wanted to do, erase her sadness, make her happy. If he could do that, then— “But I’d like to hear more of yours, if—if you wouldn’t mind.”

She glanced down at the sewing in her lap. “I don’t—I don’t know any songs in Eorzean. Most Xaellic, some Hingan, some Doman but—I would not be able to translate words for you.”

“That’s all right,” he said with a soft smile. “I’d like to listen anyway. They sound—they sound beautiful.”

 _You_ are _beautiful._

The deep violet turned to him again, looking back at him from beneath dark lashes. Her lips parted, as if she didn’t know what to say. Holding her gaze, G’raha felt that warmth again, his heart pound again, as if the very world would collapse, another calamity would strike, if he ever turned away—

“If…if that’s what you desire…”

It _was._

She sang again, her eyes closing as the words flowed over her tongue; G’raha ate them all up, as if he was a starving man and this was his remedy. He knew not what she sang of, but in his mind’s eye he could see images of rolling grass plains, eastern markets, far off lands. Of ancient palaces, carved with jade and ivory; crowded markets filled with exotic spices, sharp swords, silver wares. Of paper lanterns and paper fans and silk fabrics. And then she sang of love, somehow he _knew_ she did, and then all he could see was this woman in front of him, as alluring as the morning sun, blocking out every vision in his mind.

The song upswelled, the words filled with emotion. And G’raha was dragged along with it, bobbing along in the river of feeling, his heart pounding, face reddening, everything building to a crescendo and then—

All he could see was _her._ All he would ever see was _her._

_…oh._

Like a tide washing over a beach, waves of understanding came over him, making his lips part, his eyes widen.

The line, that thin thread he had taken so much care to tread, snapped; broken in two.

He had to get out of here.

He leapt to his feet, the sudden movement making her quiet. Opening her eyes, she looked at him, confused. “Sorry—“ He said quickly, looking anywhere but her. “Sorry, I—something came up and I need—“ Needed to leave, _now_. “I’ll—I’ll be right back, just—”

He couldn’t get out another word. And he turned and escaped back through the tent flap, as she watched, silent.

He _ran_ back to his tent, face redder than the sun beginning to sink on the Mor Dhona horizon. No, _no_ this was not—it could not be—

Bursting into his tent, G’raha grabbed the bowl of water near the cot that he used for quick morning wash ups. He splashed the water on his face; the cool drops near sizzling on his flustered skin. He paused, his red eye catching a glimpse to his open trunk. A mirror, clipped on to the inside lid, stared back at him, mismatched eyes looking to him. _Through_ him.

G’raha leaned his head against the mirror, his damp bangs sticking to the glass. Sighing, he closed his eyes, the truth now laid bare.

_I…_

_I love her._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably should just rename this fic "A Tale of G'raha Pining" at this point. 
> 
> If you like this fic, then join our [bookclub](https://discord.gg/enabling-debauched-xivfic) for more fic and general debauchery.


	7. To Know the Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> G'raha decides to cheer Mara up...

The dark portal above Xande’s throne vanished, and after all the noise from seconds before, they were left with naught but stunned silence.

The clones that had attacked them fell to the ground; inactive now that their master was gone. But G’raha kept his bow ready, continued to shield Mara with his body until he was sure they were in the clear.

His Allagan eye _burned_. He shut it tight, wincing, but now wasn’t the time to think about that—

“ _No…”_ A small voice breathed. G’raha turned around. Mara was staring up at the throne, glittering in the harsh sunlight, her mouth open in disbelief. “No! They can’t be—” She got to her feet hesitantly. “Where is portal? How do we bring them back?”

Cid lowered the grip on his gunblade, turning his gaze. “There’s little we can do now, once it’s closed. We need to consult—”

Mara marched up to him, her violet eyes alight with fury. “No time! How do we get them back? We can not just leave—”

G’raha lowered his bow. It was, as Cid said, over. “Once it’s closed, I don’t see how—”

“Damnit, no, not going to leave it like this!” Mara snapped, running up the throne. “There must be some way to open—some way—”

“Mara, right now it’s no use—”

When she turned back, there were angry tears in her eyes. “Do not tell me that! There’s got to be something we can do, something—! Cid, you are good with technology, you must know a way!”

Cid put away his gunblade, shaking his head. “Warrior, what’s gotten—” But he froze when G’raha met his eyes.

Mara was still scuttling around the throne, banging her hands on that crystal in frustration. Putting away his bow, G’raha approached her, slowly. A conversation they once had floated to the center of his mind;

_“You can’t save everyone, Mara.”_

_“I am the Warrior of Light! Should I not?”_

Swallowing, G’raha placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, beckoning her away. “Mara, come on, there’s nothing we can do right now.”

“Well— _there should be!”_ She snapped, whirling around, eyes wild. “I sat there like child, as they were taken; nothing I could do! I’m not going to let—I’m not going to let people die on my watch again!”

“We’ll figure it out—we’ll figure it out, Mara, just don’t—”

_Don’t blame yourself for something you can’t control._

She grabbed at his forearms, steadying herself. G’raha placed his arms on her shoulders, trying to give her that strong rock she desired. “It’ll be all right,” He said, calmly. “It’ll be all right.”

 _Gods_ , she still looked like she was barely holding on—

“The Ironworks will find a way,” Cid said, walking up to them. “I promise you, we’ll get to work right away. If the covenant that they spoke of was through Xande, and this was his throne room, then perhaps…” He paused. “It’ll take time, though.”

“We have no time!” Snapped Mara. “They are trapped in there and we—”

“Time doesn’t work in the void like it does here,” said Cid, scratching his head as he gazed up at the throne. “Besides, Unei and Doga are clones; I do not think they have our mortal needs. As for Nero…” Cid paused, narrowing his eyebrows. “Well, he’s more akin to a snake than anything I’ve ever met. He’ll survive. I’m sure of it.” He turned back to her, trying to smile despite all of it. “We’ll get that portal open Mara, I promise. Sooner than you think.”

Slowly, she nodded, but G’raha could feel it in the way she gripped his arms—she wasn’t sure, she was so afraid of losing them, of being unable to do anything when the moment came—

He couldn’t let her linger on it. “Come on,” he said, gesturing her towards the exit. “Let’s leave the technicians to it, hmm? They’ll figure something out, and then you’ll storm the castle and rescue the princesses. But for now, you need to rest.”

“I don’t want to rest,” she complained, as he dragged her back inside the tower. “I want—”

“I know, Mara, I know,” He said soothingly, the arm around her shoulder pulling her close.

She was silent for a long time as they made their way down the glowing crystal stairs to the teleporter. As G’raha was about to reach forward to use it, Mara stopped; he felt her shake slightly beneath his fingertips.

She was looking down at her feet; unable to meet his eyes. “When I was little girl,” she began, her voice wavering; watery. “Mother died when I was five, you see. But there was man, in Kahkol, who looked after all of us—the orphans. Name was Dahar. He was kind man; his wife and child had died to illness long ago, so he dedicated his life to children with no one else.” A small, sad smile came on her face. “He was closest thing to father I ever had.”

G’raha stared; in all their talks of her life, she had never spoken of this man. Though perhaps, she did not for a reason…

She swallowed, that smile fading. “But Dotharl attacked us, as they do. We had to run. He was gathering up us children when Dotharl came on their horses, riding with full weapons to scare us; to kill anyone who would resist. One of the younger children could not find a toy; just stood there crying as the horses came to ride him down. I was grabbing last to supplies when I turned back. Dahar—man who was my father—he grabbed up child, pushed him out of the way—but was ridden down himself. Maybe it was accident, but the Dotharl—they stopped their advance, but laughed, beat him with clubs and spears to make sure he was dead—and I could do nothing but watch.” She trembled, a tear falling down her cheek. “Why you think I always wanted to be strong? I could not protect him then. I have seen so many people die and nothing I could do; and now I am Warrior of Light, and still—“

He loved this woman so much; he would do anything to take away her pain. And yet, so much of her pain seemed to be kept inside, behind a lock he could not break. But he did not stop himself from doing what came to mind; what _felt_ right. Reaching for her, he held her face in his hands, his thumbs wiping away the tears that stained her cheeks. Sighing, he rested his forehead on hers; there, with their bangs mixing, red to blue, dusk to dawn, he could feel every tremble in her body, every whimper. “I cannot promise you how this will end,” he whispered, closing his eyes. “But I promise you, you will not face it alone.” His thumb caressed her cheek; so soft, so fragile beneath his calloused fingers. “I will be with you every step of the way, if that is what you desire.”

Slowly, she nodded, her tears drying up. “Thank you, G’raha…” she murmured, as he pulled away, fighting the urge to place a kiss on her forehead; he had already _done_ too much, _said_ too much…

“Now,” he said, pulling back, forcing a smile on his face. “Let’s get out of this awful place. I daresay all the gold and crystal sparkling in here is making it hard to see…”

_~~~~~_

“I said I don’t want to rest, G’raha!” Mara complained, as he led her back to the camp—back near her tent.

“What do you want, then?” He said, carefully.

He expected her to rant about wanting things to be different, wanting to save everyone. But she did not. She sighed, looking out as the low sun cast shadows on the horizon. “Can I just…dinner?”

“Hmm…” G’raha looked toward the camp fire pit. Cid and the others were still at the top of the tower, taking measurements for whatever they were going to do to open the voidsent portal. “We’ve had stew for days. Come on, let’s go into Revenant’s Toll and get something good to eat.”

“I mean, the Scions have—”

“I’m not talking about the Scions,” he said, taking her hand and leading her to the chocobo pen. “There’s a new restaurant in Revenant’s Toll that just opened up; I’ve wanted to check it out. Why not come with me?”

She paused, looking at him with those deep purple eyes. “All right,” she said, hesitant.

A quick trip over on Dusk (the chocobo was becoming used to him, though it was helped by G’raha sneaking over and giving Dusk snacks when he was sure Mara wasn’t looking) and they were there; the restaurant proprietress seemed thrilled knowing she was serving the Warrior of Light.

“I hear there’s some foolhardy expedition goin’ on into that Crystal Tower,” she said, bringing them full mugs of mead. “I expec’ it’s enough danger that’s keepin’ all these town adventurers interested.”

Mara stared grimly into her mug, and G’raha quickly changed the subject, “Most of the time is spent cataloging the artifacts, preparing the reports to go back to Sharlayan. In fact, I would say most adventurers would find it quite boring.”

“Ha,” the woman said, heading back to the bar. “Someone should let ‘em know, maybe then they’d stop ignoring them raging hippogriffs just outside the ‘Toll…”

They sat in silence for a while, slowly sipping at their mugs and picking at their food. As the sweet mead began to prickle into G’raha’s senses, he thought of something. “Um, may I ask—have you had alcohol before? This place has fine mead, but if I recall a thing or two that Cid said, it does tend to…overwhelm.”

Mara blinked at him. “I studied at arcanist guild in _Limsa Lomisa._ ” To make a point, she took a _looong_ sip of the mead.

Oh, right. A city that was practically built on stolen wine and stale ale. “Well…yes. But, before that?”

“In Steppe, we made kumis.”

“I have…no idea what that is.”

“Fermented mare’s milk,” She said, as if it was something _everyone_ should know.

G’raha couldn’t hide his grimace. “That sounds…” He took another sip of his _thankfully not fermented mare’s milk_.

“It not bad if you’re used to it.”

“I’m sure but…let’s say I hope to not ever get used to it.”

Mara laughed, and that, at least, lessoned the tension—after that afternoon, G’raha would take any excuse to see her laugh, even if it was at his expense.

They continued like that, eating, drinking another round of mead, and whether it was the company or the mead, Mara’s previous melancholy melted away in the dim light of the enormous fireplace at the head of the room. They chatted of other things; G’raha told stories of his misadventures on the Isle of Val, Mara of her happier days on the Steppe. Soon, though, their conversation began to take a turn…

“Are you telling me, you spent more than a half a year in Limsa Lominsa and you never once played a drinking game?”

“I was studying!” said Mara, smacking her mug on the wooden table, sticky droplets of mead sloshing forth. “I did not have the time—”

“Well, you have the time now, go one then,” he chuckled. “This one’s easy; I ask a question and you can choose to lie or tell the truth. I then guess which it is, and if I’m wrong, I take a drink. If I’m right, you take a drink. Go on, you start,” he said, leaning back in his chair, watching her through lidded eyes.

She thought a moment, then said. “Okay, what is favorite color?”

_Purple—deepest, darkest purple._

“Red,” he said the first thing came to mind.

Mara gave a giggle. “I say it is truth.”

But G’raha only chuckled. “Wrong! Now you drink.”

“Perhaps was too obvious…” she said, taking a sip of her mead. “Now, your turn.”

“What is your favorite animal?”

She pretended to think a moment. “Horse,” she said quickly, too quickly.

“Now I _know_ that’s the truth.”

Mara begrudgingly took another sip. “Yes, yes…Now my turn? Hmm…What do you want, G’raha? More than anything?”

 _More than anything…?_ Visions of a place, so far from home filled his head. Of a great grass sea, plains so far and wide, meeting the sun soaked horizon. Of eastern markets and tropical seas and forests of dense bamboo, of venturing forth into the unknown, all with this woman at his side. Of pulling her into her arms as the sun set, kissing her passionately under the moon, and then at sunrise, waking in a shared tent, a shared, tousled bedroll, and journeying forth once again.

“To…to be accepted as one of the great scholars of the Studium,” he said, pulling it from the air at random. “Being acknowledged as the very best of Sharlayan.”

“Oh, that’s a lie!” she pointed at him, giggling. “You told me once, ‘stand as tall as heroes of eld,’ didn’t you?”

So he did. But the fact that she _remembered_ that, of all things… “I concede,” he grinned, taking his own drink. “What is your greatest fear?”

As soon as the words left his lips, he knew he made a mistake. The smile on her face slipped; she stared into that mug, the liquid sloshing within. “Mara, if you don’t want to answer—“

She shook her head. “No I…I guess…” She paused again, looking away from him. “There are…things I can ill afford to lose.”

He didn’t even need to say ‘truth.’ Instead, G’raha took a drink from his mug, a _long_ drink. _Would that I could save you from it_. He thought. “Do you…do you still want to play?”

“Yes, yes!” She turned back, snapping out of it. “I think you winning right now. I’m not going to let you lose!”

Smirking, G’raha raised his mug back to her. “The game is on, then.”

_~~~~~_

The game, as it turned out, should definitely _not_ have been on.

Despite hailing from Limsa Lominsa, despite her youth drinking—whatever that was—Mara did not, in fact, hold her alcohol well. G’raha should’ve stopped her when she spilled the mead all over herself, when she was singing along (badly) as the other adventurers in the tavern started up a drinking song, and _especially_ when she waddled over to him, draped her arm around his steaming form, and told him she was so _glad_ he was here right now, with her—accented with many, many hiccups.

Cid was going to kill him. G’raha could see it now; _“I thought you were going to go cheer her up, not get her drunk!”_ His ears near flattened to his head just thinking about it. He didn’t _know_ she was that much of a lightweight…

And so, he had placed her near-snoozing form atop Dusk, walking along besides the chocobo the _long_ way back to camp. It gave G’raha plenty of time to ruminate on his mistakes that night; and mistakes were _definitely_ made.

“Mmm, G’raha…” Mara murmured against Dusk’s neck, reaching out for him. “Your ears…” she gave a little giggle as she reached for one of them, gently massaging the soft fur. He froze in place, sputtering in shock. “I love how they move so much…”

“Yes, well…” He tried to keep his voice calm, keep his tone _level,_ to not let on that rubbing his ears like that was _immensely pleasurable._ “It’s not like I can—like I can control it. Whenever you have emotions it just kind of—happens.”

“Hmm,” she mused, _thankfully_ letting go. “I wonder what you could tell of Au Ra if horns did that.”

For a moment, he did let himself wonder. What would they look like on her now in this state? Probably set back, relaxed, without a care in the world, next to his tensed, pinned ones.

She hiccupped again, and he looked back at her. Despite her state, she was smiling, a drunken blush painted across her cheeks. Still so…cute. Sitting up more atop the chocobo as they walked back to camp, she nibbled her lip now in a pensive thought. “G’raha…what—what do you think of me?”

His fingers tensed on Dusk’s reins. _I love you more than life itself, even when you’re a bloody drunken idiot._ He would have to answer this _carefully._ “What…what do you mean?”

“Everyone now calls me ‘Warrior.’ It is like—like they think it’s a grand title, and I should be honored to use it. You are only one that calls me ‘Mara.’ And _only_ ‘Mara.’”

He stopped walking, stared at her, as if it was obvious. “You are Mara. You are the Warrior of Light, but…weren’t you always ‘Mara?’ Isn’t that…isn’t that what you prefer?”

Her eyes sparkled like the skies above. “Yes…thank you for…for that. For seeing…me.”

“Everyone should want to see you,” G’raha blurted out before he could stop himself. “You’re _wonderful._ ”

He heard Mara suck in a breath—watched the way her eyes widened. _Idiot!_ It was too much—too much— “That is—to say—I mean—You did so much, faced so many things _before_ you were the Warrior of Light. And even without it—you’ve still done the incredible…well, I think.” He turned away, nervously scratching the back of his neck.

She giggled, leaning against Dusk’s neck again for stability. “Why can’t more people be like you, G’raha?”

“I’m glad there aren’t more,” he muttered. Frankly, he’d rather _not_ have ten more men around here, all hopelessly in love with her. Not that he could _tell_ her this.

As they neared the camp, G’raha could see the fire pit was low; burning embers from their dinner. Good, no one was around to witness— _this._ He led Dusk to the chocobo pen, where the beast was currently eyeing the fresh greens hungrily. “Come on,” said G’raha, gesturing to Mara. “Let’s get back to camp, it’s late and—”

Instead of a gentle dismounting like he expected, Mara _flopped_ with all her weight against him—he could feel every curve of her body, every ilm—Her breasts, on the smaller side but pert enough, dug into his chest as if there were no fabric between them—face flushed as red as it would go, G’raha tried to step backward but his legs tangled against each other—He fell back, hard onto the rocky ground, with Mara over him, practically straddling his hips.

He barely had time to process the pain of the hard landing when he realized she was _right there._ Her scent enveloped him—old parchment and jasmine flowers and Eastern spice—And when she wiggled her hips to try to get up, _that_ sent very specific, _vivid_ images to his brain—and other places—of her in this position in a _far_ less innocent context—

“G’raha?” she asked, as her bangs were brushing his burning cheeks—but her Eastern accent caused her to almost drop the ‘G’ and all he could imagine was her voice, breathy and low, saying his name, his _true_ name—

_“Oh, Raha!”_

He needed to get her to bed, _now._

 _Gently_ he tried to ease out from under her, _hissing_ as her knee brushed against his groin— _Azeyma,_ please don’t let her feel— “Come on,” he said, forcing himself to sound gentle, like speaking to a child, as she rose back up on her knees. “Let’s get you back to your tent.”

As he stood up, offered her a hand, she pouted, muttering stubbornly, “I don’t want to go to bed.”

He had to suppress a growl. “Mara, you’re drunk. You need to go to bed.”

“I am not _that_ drunk!” She jumped to her feet—before stumbling, falling back into his arms. She steadied herself, grasping at his forearms, holding her grip there for a little longer than normal…She looked up to his rolling eyes. “Okay—maybe little drunk.”

“Mmhm,” he said, throwing an arm over her shoulders. “This way.”

She leaned against his body as they made their way back toward her tent. Her scent was still all around him, her head leaning against his chest, and if she moved particularly close, his ears could pick up her soft breathing, her heartbeat. He had spent nights dreaming about what it would be like to take her in his arms, to _hold_ her, and now—he realized he should’ve been a bit more specific when asking The Twelve for such things. If he was lucky, she wouldn’t remember any of this.

Though he would certainly never _ever_ forget…

“Wait,” she said, as they neared her tent. For a moment, she pushed away from him, looking into his eyes. “Just—just for a bit can we…” Her eyes looked up, to the sparkling sky. “Can we see the stars?”

She asked him like she was asking for _permission_ , like he was her _minder_ …though, in this state, he probably was. “For a bit, he sighed, moving her to settle them down on a rock outcropping. “But you still need to get to bed.”

“Just for a little bit!” she said, sitting down next to him. “I promise!”

“I’m sure,” He replied, fairly certain this night would end with him carrying her off to bed anyway. He gazed upward for a moment, before feeling her soft hands on his arm. Startled, he looked back down, ears perking up in surprise—she was snuggling in closer to him, her head resting on his chest as she looked upward. She moved aside his arm, her fingers lingering on his hard muscles for perhaps a moment too long, before he sighed and wrapped that arm around her, pulling her in close. _Just to make sure she won’t fall over_ , he told himself, not believing a word of it.

Still, she smiled anyway. Pointing upwards, she asked, “Do you know constellations, G’raha?”

“Not really,” he said, noting how the top of her head fit perfectly under his chin. “Others in Sharlayan know—we have a whole study of Astrology dedicated to the stars and their movements. Perhaps one day, I shall learn.”

“I would like to know Eorzean names of stars,” she said, her voice light, whimsical. “In Steppe, they have different names—”

“Show me,” he said, before she could finish.

He could _feel_ the warmth in her smile as she dragged her finger across the starscape, “That one there,” she said, tracing a figure. “Is Great Horse. Next to it is Smaller Horse…it sounds a lot more grand in Xaellic,” she giggled. “But most important are that one,” she traced again, “And that one. Nhaama and Azim. Dusk Mother and Dawn Father.”

“I should like to see them someday,” G’raha whispered, looking down at her. “I mean—see them in the Steppe sky.”

“Maybe someday, you will,” she smiled against his chest.

Now that he said it, he couldn’t stop—whatever alcohol he had imbued now loosened his tongue. “And all those other places you speak of—the bamboo forests of Yanxia, the markets of Kugane—I want—I want to see it all. To journey—to journey on the Eternal Wind, wherever it takes us.”

He _winced_ as he realized what he just said. _“Wherever it takes_ us.” Fool, he might as well have told her—

Though, perhaps—given her own state of intoxication, he was in the clear. She only chuckled. “It funny, to me—I spent my time in East dreaming of Eorzea, and here, people dream of East. Maybe things not so different after all.”

“Maybe not, but…I’d still like to see it all. Someday.”

“Mmm, someday…” she trailed off, burrowing her face back in his chest.

He looked back at the stars as they twinkled down at them, and after many long moments, realized he hadn’t heard a peep from Mara in a while. “Mara?” he asked, looking back down. “Are you…?”

She gave no response, only soft breaths as she slumbered against his chest.

He sighed. Well…he figured he would end up carrying her to her bed anyway. “What am I going to do with you?” he murmured, the arm around her pulling her close…for just a moment. Even so, she slept on.

Perhaps they could stay for a bit longer.

Leaning down, he placed a soft kiss against her forehead, murmuring, “Sleep well, Mara.”

_My love._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like this fic, then join our [bookclub](https://discord.gg/enabling-debauched-xivfic) for more fic and general debauchery.


	8. Fortune's Fool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The more I learn of the Crystal Tower, the less I am myself."

G’raha Tia dreams in blue and gold. Of a dark, hooded presence, of red eyes, staring beneath.

Those red eyes burn into his mind—his soul.

He’s falling—falling from the spire of the tower. Emperor Xande, the great hulking monster, stares him down, laughs as he pushes him from the throne into the open sky—a sky dominated by shimmering, golden light.

He floats—falls—ever down, down, his body swallowed up by the blinding, searing light—

Now he falls inside the tower, past crystalline stairs, leading up and up, past golden seams and glittering platforms. Down, down, down into the depths, the place growing darker, more sinister, and he can hear it in his mind—a thrumming, a soft tempo.

The heartbeat of the tower.

He’s alone in a darkened plane, a harsh light cast over him. He has never felt more alone…and more in sight. Revealed. Vulnerable.

“G’raha?” A soft, loving voice calls to him, a voice with a heavy Eastern accent, almost dropping the G. “Where are you?”

“I’m here!” He tries to call out, but his voice is muffled; silenced. He reaches a hand out—but it’s cloaked in shadow. In a robe of the darkest black. A hood rests over his face, hiding him from the world—from her.

“G’raha? Please, I can’t see you!” She says again, her voice fading away, away—

“I’m _right here!_ ” He yells, walks forward—only to see that his legs are locked in place. Searing, agonizing pain splinters up his legs—he looks down as that blue crystal—glowing, Allagan blue veined with gold—crawls up his legs, his arms—creaking and groaning and snapping as it continues its relentless assault. He tries to cry out, but his mouth turns to hard stone, his tongue frozen in a scream—it snakes up is face, up to his eyes—everything turns blue and opaque as his heart quakes in fear—

G’raha Tia near leaps from his cot in his small tent, sweat coating his brow. He breathes heavily, reaching with calloused fingers to check his arms, his legs, his face. Smooth, Spoken skin. His heart pounds in his chest as he realizes it was all a dream...though it felt too real. He was still adjusting himself to reality when his Allagan Eye flared in agony—he gasped as he covered it in his hands, the pain causing more images to flash into his mind—

_A tower of blue and gold, a beacon of hope for the future—_

_Red eyed people staring back at him, waiting for something—_

_That light, that ever-present, burning light, consuming all—_

_That hooded figure, reaching out for him with an arm made of crystal—_

As fast as it came on, it faded, and G’raha was left shaking in his bed as he pulled his right arm away, staring at it. He blinked; for a moment he thought—he thought that his own arm was made out of that crystal.

Flying from the bed, blanket still tangled around his ankles, he reached for the mirror that was pinned on the lid of his trunk. Brushing away his long, crimson bangs, G’raha Tia looked into it for some relief—some validation—

Just the one red eye, the Allagan eye. The other was its natural teal, same as it always was.

Reaching up to touch his own eye again, G’raha breathed slowly, taking it all in. _It was just a dream, nothing more…_

But those dreams had been more frequent as of late.

And the eye—the Allagan eye—

Removing his hand, he asked of the heavens, “What’s…happening to me?”

But the gods and the heavens kept their own council.

_~~~~~_

G’raha joined Cid and the Sons of Saint Coinach at the camp fire pit, where a steaming pot of porridge was brewing. Magitek-brewed coffee was passed around in tin mugs as the camp prepared breakfast, and an important breakfast it was, as the attempt to open the void portal would be made today.

Sitting down on a crystallized log, G’raha sighed, holding his head in his hands. He felt more fatigued than usual, more weary; the last couple of mornings, he had been woken from nightmares, always the same dreams, the same theme—red eyes, Allagan eyes, looking back at him.

“Get enough sleep, G’raha?” Biggs asked, handing him a steaming mug of coffee.

G’raha took it, savoring the warmth, the bitter scent. “Enough,” he said, not wanting to get into it. His dreams were his own problems.

“Where’s Mara?” Wedge asked, looking around with two oversized coffee mugs in his hand. “Should we wake her?”

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” said G’raha, sipping on his coffee. The only time Mara had been late to breakfast was the night after their little misadventure in Revenant’s Toll—G’raha had woken up with a little bit of a hangover, whereas Mara had tottered to morning breakfast and downed more coffee than he had ever seen her drink. She spoke hardly a word, and had taken great care not to meet his eyes. He had wondered if she even remembered much of that night; she hadn’t spoken of it at all since.

 _He_ certainly would never forget—the way she fell against him, melting into his embrace, the way she fit into his arms, like she was made to go there, her hand pointing up, tracing the constellations—for one night, he had allowed himself to hope, to believe—but on morning, reality soon washed in like the tide. Whatever had happened between them was brought about by alcohol, by the allure of night, and now in the harsh light of day, it had been swept away. In the days that followed, she had been careful to keep him at arm’s length, to not give any more than necessary. And so he found himself in his place once more; reminded of the reality of his situation.

_After all this is over, she will move on. She will forget you._

Still, perhaps it was good, to know his place. To know his futile wishes were all for naught. It kept him from going too far, from making a fool of himself. He could love her, but it would always be a one-sided thing, kept locked away in his own heart.

That was fine; if friendship was all she offered, he would take it in willing, open hands. Just to know her, even for such a little time, was enough.

It would have to be enough.

“Ah, there you are Mara!” said Wedge. G’raha looked up—Mara approached, looking a little tired but otherwise fit for duty. He quickly glanced away, not wanting to look like he was _staring_. “We were hoping we wouldn’t have to wake you!”

“Glad you did not,” she quipped, staring into the coffee mug he offered her. After a small drink, she turned to Cid and asked. “Is everything ready?”

Cid nodded, poking the fire pit with a stick. “Everything is ready. We can start making our way up there after breakfast. With luck, the portal will be open and we can begin this afternoon.”

She nodded. “That is good. It has been…I hope it has not been too much time…”

“It will be fine, Mara,” G’raha said, sensing her worry. She looked up at him, met his gaze, dark purple to crimson and teal. “It will be all right. You will save them, I know it.”

Her fingers tensed on her mug. “I hope so…”

 _Gods,_ if Cid and the rest weren’t around, G’raha would’ve closed the distance between them and hugged her, would’ve whispered to her that it would be all right. As she stared into the swirling black liquid, G’raha tried, at least, to convey all that couldn’t be said, _“Mara_ ,” he murmured, wishing with all his heart she would understand…

But it was too much. When G’raha turned back, Cid was staring at him, and _not_ in approval. Brows furrowed, slight frown on his face, he glanced away for a moment, tossing the stick into the fire. “G’raha, there’s been something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about. Can you come with me for a second?”

 _Oh…there it is…_ G’raha sighed; he knew this was coming eventually. Putting down his half-finished mug of coffee, he said, “Of course.” Mara glanced up at him as he stood up and walked past, but he did not meet her gaze; he could not.

Cid led him a little ways from the fire pit, on a bluff overlooking Silvertear Lake. As soon as he was sure they wouldn’t be overheard, Cid turned back to him, eyes narrowed. “All right, I need to ask—what are your… _intentions_ regarding the Warrior of Light?”

G’raha folded his arms, _knowing_ he was looking like a petulant child, but he didn’t care. Glancing past Cid, toward the Keeper of the Lake, he muttered, “Why do you care?”

Cid took a step forward, more like an overprotective father than anything. “Because _I_ care about the Warrior of Light. And _I_ care if—“

“If _what_?” G’raha snapped, glaring back, acutely aware how _tall_ Cid was compared to him, how _imposing._ “She’s allowed to make her own decisions!”

“I know she is; But if this is just a—just a _dalliance_ for you then—”

G’raha’s fingernails dug into his own arms. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you mean.“

Cid narrowed his eyes, and for a moment G’raha felt the power of this man—a man who had fled his home, the Empire of Garlemald, knowing a scaffold awaited him upon return. He had survived so much, borne it all, and underneath his calm demeanor, there lay the determination of a man willing to give all up just on the thought of _doing what was right._ “I heard a few things from the Sons of Saint Coinach. They have contacts in Sharlayan, you know. What I’m saying is, if you think this is some sort of—some sort of _conquest_ for you—”

“It’s not like that!” snarled G’raha, staring daggers back at him. “It’s not like that at all!”

Cid glanced back towards the camp, where the object of their conversation was surely munching on breakfast, sipping on coffee, oblivious to their current predicament. “Well, not without lack of trying on your part, that’s for sure.”

“It’s not like that because—it isn’t—” The words caught in G’raha’s throat—though he had thought them, many, many times, speaking them out loud, making them real—it was too much to bear. After a long moment, he sighed, covering his face in hands. “You need not worry, Cid. She doesn’t—there’s nothing there. And there never will be. Nothing but…” He paused again, swallowing. “Nothing but my own foolishness.”

For a moment, Cid didn’t speak; perhaps he was shocked into silence? _Good._ After a long moment, Cid’s big hand fell on his shoulder. “I’m just looking out for her,” he said, quietly, by way of apology.

“So am I,” G’raha snapped, tearing his hands away. “And that’s why I won’t…I won’t burden her with this. Not when I know it won’t be…” He swallowed again. “It’s best she never knows.”

Cid gave him one last look, this time of pity (G’raha didn’t _want_ his pity!) and left him on that bluff, overlooking the lake. As soon as Cid was gone, G’raha gave a small, frustrated growl. _Great_ , now Cid Garlond knew how pathetic he was! He had hoped that perhaps he could keep his feelings a secret; keep it to himself ‘til the end of his days. But _of course_ he couldn’t even do that. Even in silence, he was a failure.

G’raha kicked a pebble off the bluff, watching it bounce and fall down, down into the ravine. He felt the urge to throw something, to scream; this was hopeless, _he_ was hopeless—just a fool, fallen in love with someone who he was sure would never in a million years come to care for him. But it wouldn’t have been so bad if his _stupid, bloody heart_ didn’t flutter every time she looked at him, every time she said his name—gave him that _stupid, bloody hope_ that tantalized him, whispered to his every thought—It was hopeless, it was futile, he needed to get that through his head before more than just Cid Garlond saw his plight—

Turning on his heel, he looked up to the Crystal Tower, the spire shimmering above—

Pure, fiery _agony_ whizzed through his brain, his Allagan eye digging into his skull. G’raha cried out, fell to his knees, his hands cupping his head as if his life’s blood was spilling out—

_A red-eyed woman stared back, mouth a thin line. She held out her hand—something red, pulsed within. “You must take it,” she said, holding it out to him. “Take it and keep our promise, keep our faith.” The red light flared, clouded his vision._

_“Take it and remember, Desch!”_

_Visions of cities burning, a great wave of water rushing forth—red-eyed people running, running—running from the inevitable. Cities pulsing with neon red and blue light, falling into ruin; great castles laid waste. Allagan tomestones and nodes scattered upon the ground; broken. The world ending, only to be remade anew._

_“Remember!”_

G’raha gasped as the pain left him, his right eye still watered. He was on his hands and knees, shaking, panting, the world slowly coming back together. Mor Dhona—he was in Mor Dhona, under that ceruleum sky. Just a daydream, imagination, nothing more…

But even so…

“Desch…” G’raha repeated, the name sounding familiar coming from his lips; right. As if it was a name he had always known, an old friend.

Slowly getting to his feet, G’raha rubbed his eye. “The truth lies with Allag.” He had known, he had known this his whole life.

He just hadn’t feared that truth until now.

_~~~~~_

Despite what had occurred that morning, G’raha couldn’t deny that Cid had triumphed; The Garlond Ironworks had crafted miracles once again. The void portal was opened, and soon the Warrior of Light would venture within, rescue Unei and Doga (and Nero) and this whole chapter could close for good. Unei and Doga could close the portal, seal the tower, and all would be well.

All, except…

He knew Cid was watching. He knew he shouldn’t ask—should just bear it like he had borne everything else. But he had to—had to speak with her before this last mission, before everything changed—

Just in case he changed as well.

“Might I have a moment of your time, Mara?” he said, _extremely_ casually. “There is a matter of import that…” He paused, noting her expression; if she tilted her head, she would look like a curious puppy. “I would rather discuss alone.”

Cid was watching him, _studying_ him. G’raha wanted to look back at him, to say “It’s _not_ about that!” But he did not. Let Cid think what he will, it did not matter.

No, as G’raha found out, something mattered _far more_ than his stupid, lonely heart…

“G’raha?” She asked, as soon as they were alone, away from the tower. “What is it?”

He didn’t reply right away, only kept his eyes on that tower as it sparkled in the sunrise. “I…” He began; stopped. Where _to_ begin?

“I wished to speak to you about my eye,” He said, carefully. “Unei and Doga, they said it is a trait only seen in Allagan royalty. If so…why me? I knew from the start that it would lead me to my destiny, but now…”

He took a glance at Mara, her dark purple eyes looking back at him, taking it all in. “I always knew the truth of my eye rests with Allag. But now that I am on the cusp of learning it I…” He paused again, turning away. Running fingers through his crimson hair.

“G’raha…”

“Don’t, please…” He cut her off; begged. “Not until I finish. I…I’ve been having dreams.” He closed his eyes, remembering those scenes. Red-eyed people, the world coming to an end, someone begging him to remember… The words fell from his lips, like water over a fall. “And I think—My dreams keep asking me, begging me to remember something. But…I know not what. My eye, it keeps aching, every time I see more and more—Always those people, those red-eyed people, asking me to remember and I can’t—Something’s happening to me and I…” He swallowed, eyes feeling misty, his ears pinned back. “The more I learn of the Crystal Tower, the less I am myself. And I’m afraid…I think it’s _changing_ me.”

 _Gods,_ he couldn’t look at her now, not when she looked so pained at him— _for_ him. He closed his eyes against it. “I _need_ to go with you, Mara. I _need_ to see this through, to find my destiny and yet…If I go through with you into the portal I fear—what will come out with you in the end? Will I…” He made a small sound, like a scared animal. “Will I even be _me?_ Will I—“

He was cut off as two soft hands cupped his cheeks, leaning his forehead against hers. His eyes popped open in shock; his breath stopped, ears straight up in alarm. Mara had a small smile on her face as she leaned against him, murmuring, “I do not know how this end but…I will be there with you, G’raha. You need not face it alone.”

He gave a small, watery chuckle. “That is what I said to you, before.”

She nodded. “Now I say it back to you. No matter what happens, I will be by your side. Every step of way.”

He placed a hand over hers, relishing in the warmth. “Even if I…” He gulped. “Even if I _change_?”

But Mara only shook her head. “No matter what, you will still be G’raha. This, I know.”

He fought the urge to sob; to _hold_ this woman, this _wonderful_ woman in his arms. To be vulnerable; let himself be comforted. If only…

“Thank you Mara, I…When…when this is all over…” He rasped, forcing himself to get the words out, despite the anxiety raging in his gut. No, now that he had started, he had to finish, no matter what his better instincts thought, no matter what he promised Cid, no matter how hopeless he felt—He needed to say it. “When this is all over, and the battle is won…There is something I…Something I wish to talk to you about.”

“Hmm?” Her eyes met his. There was something in them; some trepidation. Some fear…or was it hope? He didn’t dare believe…A tiny blush sprouted on her face. “All right…”

She pulled away, her soft touch lingering on his cheeks. He was a fool, a damned fool in love, but…

If she was beside him, he would have the courage to conquer anything, no matter what lay ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like this fic, then join our [bookclub](https://discord.gg/enabling-debauched-xivfic) for more fic and general debauchery.


	9. Raha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so, he begged to the ancients "one more night..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains explicit sexual content.
> 
> There is a companion piece/second ending to this chapter posted in the third chapter of [The Color of Midnight.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27948323/chapters/69271530)

G’raha Tia no longer dreamed of red eyes. For they appeared in his waking thoughts now—every time he looked in a mirror, gazed down into the waters of Silvertear Lake. Those eyes, those Allagan Eyes, burned into him once more.

 _“The Truth lies with Allag._ ” How he wished he had never heard such a phrase, wished that he had run away from his destiny rather than towards it.

Unei and Doga had done more than they realized when they shared their blood with him. They gave him another Allagan Eye, had given him control of the Crystal Tower, but they also gave him the memories, the wishes of the ancients.

 _“Remember us! Remember our dearest wish!”_ The ancients had cried out, bidding their descendant to listen; to learn. Aye, he now remembered; he knew what they wanted, but what they wanted…

 _“The Crystal Tower shall shine forth once more, as a beacon of hope to mankind._ ” The tower was a source of energy, a vast mechanism that, in the proper hands, could bring mankind to a new dawn; a new era of peace, and prosperity. Of course, mankind was not ready; it would take generations, hundreds, maybe _thousands_ of years, for mankind to have the technology needed to properly utilize the Crystal Tower.

And in the meantime, until that day came…the Crystal Tower needed a caretaker.

G’raha Tia had often cursed his bloodline. Growing up, he had hated his Allagan Eye, that marked him as _different_ , as an _other._ He often fantasized about plucking it out, throwing it to oblivion; for he would’ve rather had one less eye and be accepted by his tribe, by his father. But over time, and after coming to study with the Students of Baldesion, he saw his eye as a mark of curiosity, as something to take pride in. What better way to prove himself as an Allagan scholar but to have the mark of Allag there, for all to see?

Even when he first set foot at Saint Coinach’s Find, on the shores of Silvertear Lake, he had been excited to start the expedition, to delve into the secrets of the past; secrets of his bloodline.

He just hadn’t expected to uncover secrets of his _future._

For the will of the Ancients sung loudly in his ears now, an ever-present, relentless song. Begging and pleading him to go through with it, to fulfill their last, desperate dream—

But what about _his_ dreams?

G’raha had intended to speak with Mara after they returned from the void portal, victorious. That thought kept him going through the horrors of the World of Darkness, as he matched her stride, ventured deeper and deeper into the depths of a place mortals were not meant to tread. Finally, he saw the Warrior of Light unleashed, and such a thing was awe-inspiring. She faced down monsters of impossible size, and they fell before her, exploding into dust.

But there were moments G’raha wasn’t sure they would make it. When a great, three-headed dog emerged from the depths, he wondered how she could fight such a beast. When the Cloud of Darkness herself appeared from the fog, it’s vile darkness choking and corrupting the air between—it was all G’raha could do but to temper his fear, and carry on. _When this is over, I’ll tell her._ He told himself, that mantra moving one foot in front of the other, until the very end.

And when the end came…

The wishes of the ancients made themselves clear soon after he awoke his sleeping blood. They broke into his mind like the beating of a drum; crying louder and louder until he had no choice but to listen. No choice but to _obey._

Mara had turned to him afterwards, after they made it back, hale and whole. Unei and Doga had been lost, but it had been their own choice. She was sad she could not save them, he saw it in her eyes—that same guilt that plagued her every time she was reminded of her past. He had wrapped an arm around her, not giving a _damn_ what Cid might see or think, and walked with her down to the base of the tower, hoping she wouldn’t continue to blame herself.

“Perhaps I should have…should have tried harder?” she said, her voice wavering. They sat on those crystalline steps, next to the teleportation device. “They were right there and I could not—I did not…”

“It was their will, Mara,” said G’raha, giving her shoulder a small squeeze. “It was their own choice. You can’t…you can’t blame yourself when it’s not what they wanted.”

“Even so—”

“Mara,” he sighed, leaning in to press their foreheads together. “We could not have made it out without them. They wanted this. They gave their lives so that we could live on, remember them; tell their story. You cannot blame yourself for going along with their wishes.”

Her eyes were downcast, but slowly, she nodded.

Although, now he spoke of more than just Unei and Doga. For there were other wishes at stake, wishes that were ringing in his mind like the chapel bells of Ishgard.

After a long moment, she looked back at him. “G’raha was there…was there not something you wanted to say? After all this was over?”

He gulped. No, he couldn’t say it now. “Later. For now I am…I am rather tired. It’s been a long day. Come on, let’s go back to camp and rest.”

She narrowed her eyes for a moment, curious, but nodded all the same.

If he was lucky, she would forget the conversation ever happened…but as it turned out, G’raha Tia was never lucky.

He had wanted to go back inside the tower after all was said and done. Do it in the dark of night; do it before anyone could stop him. But even as the ancients cried out for his submission, his own thoughts, his own desires cried back, harder.

_One night, just give me one last night, please…_

That was how he found himself, alone in his tent, with a single candle for company. He had things to do; affairs to set in order. The sun was already low in the sky when they descended the tower and now night had fallen, the crickets chirping in contentment under the dark, purplish skies. G’raha was certain the rest of NOAH was sleeping soundly in their beds at this hour, thinking their task done; unaware of the next step that lay ahead. He hoped—he prayed that Mara slumbered as well, a content, dreamless sleep, free of any nightmares of what she saw in day. _Sleep, my love, and I pray you don’t dream of me._

G’raha moved away from his small writing desk in his tent, folding up the letter and sealing it in an envelope. He didn’t know how long he had spent, staring at the blank sheets of paper, wondering what to write. But he had managed; nothing more was left to say. He placed the letters aside; one to Krile, one to his mother. He’d finally written to his mother after all, and here he was, saying goodbye. They were paltry attempts to placate the hurt he’d know this would cause them, but they had to be done…he _had_ to know he had left nothing unsaid.

 _Now…_ He pulled out one final sheet of paper, dipping the pen in the ink. _Just one last thing to write…_

Placing the pen on the paper, hearing nothing but the scratch of the nib, he began,

_Mara,_

_I know naught what to say, but—_

He hesitated, lifting the pen up. What _could_ he say? What could he possibly say that would alleviate the pain he _knew_ he’d cause her? They were friends, maybe more, if he dared hope—but he could hold to that hope, no longer. He would leave, and she would carry on with her life. He had thought, perhaps, to finally confess, tell her once and for all of his feelings. If she rejected them, well, what did it matter? He would no longer be an ornament in her life.

_But if she feels the same way…_

If, somehow, the Twelve thought to finally give him this one thing, this one thing he had hoped and dreamed for, then the Twelve were walking away laughing. For now, at the end of all things, even if she _did_ care for him, _in that way_ —it was their destiny to part. Forever.

No, she would need to move on. He would not become an anchor to her past. Mara had so many other hurts, so many other bad memories. He would not allow himself to became another. It would be best she never knew. Never knew, and forgot him. Find someone else, maybe raise a family if that’s what she wished—that was the right thing, the noble thing he should do.

Setting aside his pen, G’raha sighed, rubbing at his temples. In quiet moments like these, he could almost hear the siren song of the ancients, calling to him, begging him to complete the final piece—to finish the job. “One last night” he had begged of them, but this…it would not be enough.

How could it ever be enough?

He felt like a man doomed for the gallows in the morning. In truth, part of him was terrified—he would not be dead, but wasn’t it as good as? Everything he had known, everyone he had cherished would be gone when he awoke. And Mara… _Gods_ , Mara…He had only just begun to hope, and now…

He turned back to the dimly lit tent. He’d be leaving behind his books, his cherished possessions—his journals, all his notes…His eyes fell on the open trunk, that mirror pinned to the inside staring back at him.

Two red eyes stared back now, just like those eyes in his dreams. Watching, waiting, commanding—demanding his surrender. _“Remember our dearest wish!”_ They called out, beckoning him back—back to the tower. _“Remember our desire! Remember your duty, G’raha—”_

G’raha clenched his teeth—clenched his eyes shut, squeezing out tears—clenched his fists—

_Fuck._

_Duty!_

He cried out, tears bursting from the corner of his eyes, grabbing that mirror and slamming it on the inside of the trunk. It shattered into dozens of fragments—the largest snapped back, slicing one of his fingers. G’raha gasped as droplets of blood dribbled out from his finger, falling onto his vest—his pants—onto those broken fragments of glass. Looking inside the empty trunk, a jagged mirror piece of a single eye gazed back. A droplet of blood fell on it, splattering it in red, hiding the crimson eye beneath.

_Remember our will, and obey._

G’raha fell on his back, staring up at the canvas roof of the tent. His finger stung—but the pain was a reminder that, for now, he was awake. He was alive. As he squeezed out more hot tears, a fist covering his mouth, it was all he could do to keep himself together—to fight the urge to curl into a ball and cry like the child he felt.

_Remember our wish—_

But what about _his_ wishes?

Closing his eyes, G’raha could see it in his mind— _Taking Mara by the hand at the shores of Silvertear Lake. Pulling her close—forehead to forehead—and confessing to her the feelings he was sure to have had since almost the moment they met. She would smile, maybe laugh—and then lean into him, whispering those same words back, for they would sound so much better coming from her lips—_

_Kissing her long and slow under the pearlescent moon, under the glow of a thousand, thousand stars. As they would pull away, laughter, all smiles, she would lean into him, tucking herself under his chin, and name the rest of those stars for him, late into the night._

_Her beautiful face, flushed with pleasure, eyes shut tight and head thrown back as she moaned his name, “Raha, please, don’t stop!” Her small hands twisting in his undone crimson hair, pulling with every hitch in her breath—every time his fingers hit that spot inside her just so—Her cream-white thighs resting over his shoulders as he teased her core, lapped at her pearl, building her pleasure with tongue and hands, feeling her legs shake as she came undone, all for him—_ because _of him—“Raha!”_

_Waking up every morning with her in his arms, in a shared tent under an Eastern sun. Perhaps he would wake her nibbling at her neck, kissing down her bare back, she would smile as she woke, turning to him. Slow, sensual kisses would lead to passionate ones, as he would roll atop her once more, content to spend every morning beside her—inside her—_

_And, maybe one day, when all was settled, a house of their own, a place to come back to after travels, adventures—Sitting in front of the fire on cold winter nights, a sleeping babe in Mara’s arms, with Miqo’te ears but hair as dark as her mother’s. G’raha would hold them both close, purring softly—everything he had ever wanted, right there in his arms…_

But when he opened his eyes, he was still in his tent in Mor Dhona—He could ask the Twelve all he wanted for such things, but he was beyond their reach now.

If this was to be his last night as himself, perhaps his last night alive, he didn’t want to spend it laying here on the floor, wishing for a dream that could not come true. For his last few hours he wanted—

 _Muffled gasps and the hitching of breath—soft moans as her small hands scrabbled over his bare back, leaving scars where her nails dug in, marking him as_ hers _. Her dark purple eyes clouded with lust, his crimson hair spilling all about them, mixing with her midnight blue—“Raha!” she’d cry out as he drove into her, again and again and again, while he would chant a mantra with every thrust, “I love you, I love you!”_

G’raha sat up, crossing his legs and _willing_ such thoughts to go away before he spent the whole evening in his tent, taking his pleasure in hand to thoughts of her, as he had done many times before. Such a pathetic thing, and yet it was the right thing to do, in this situation. He had decided, had he not? It would be wrong to tell her now— _selfish_ to tell her now. She needed to forget him, needed to move on, and yet—

He turned back to the writing desk, where his farewell letter to her had barely been written.

_Mara,_

_I know naught what to say, but—_

He picked up the pen once more, to finish what he started. As the words flowed, he knew he was treading a line—it would be wrong to do any more than this; just a farewell letter and nothing more.

But…

Folding the letter up, he turned back to the tent flap. It fluttered in the soft breeze, tantalizing, enticing—tempting him to do the unthinkable.

G’raha glanced down at the letter in his hands. Perhaps he had already said too much in written form. Perhaps he should just rip it up and start again—spend his final hours crafting the perfect goodbye.

But…

He gazed back at the tent flap.

It would be selfish to go to her now, he knew that without a doubt.

But…

He set the letter down, got to his feet.

If such a thing would be selfish, then _let_ him be selfish!

_~~~~~_

Part of him had hoped she would’ve already been asleep. But when his feet moved of their own accord, led him to her tent, he couldn’t let whatever courage driven by the fear of the morning back down. He called out her name, and she had answered, had come out to greet him.

But now that she was here, he didn’t know how to begin. What could he say? _“I just wanted to see you again, one last time?”_ No he couldn’t—he _definitely_ could not tell her that.

For if she knew the true purpose of the visit, she would beg him to stay. If she did—

He wouldn’t be able to resist.

They walked out towards the lake, the Keeper staring down at them under the quilt of stars. They were silent for a while, G’raha unable to meet her eyes for fear of drowning in them.

“G’raha?” Mara finally asked. “What is it? Are you…”

“ _What?”_ he asked, perhaps a little too harshly.

“Are you all right? After everything—after today?” she said by way of explanation. She wrung her hands together, unsure.

G’raha turned back to her, and she held his gaze. He wondered how he looked in her eyes. Perhaps she thought his Allagan Eyes were haunting, eerie. “I don’t know,” he lied; he would have to lie to her many times tonight. “Unei and Doga gave me the gift of their blood and I…I feel changed, but at the same time, I don’t feel different at all.”

“You found destiny you always looked for,” she said, her foot, clad in her long black boots, kicked a pebble nearby. “Are you…happy?”

“I did find it,” he agreed, evading the second question. “At least, I learned the truth of the Allagan Eye, the truth that eluded my forebears for so long. You could say there is some gratification in that.”

“And now expedition is over,” she said, turning back to the Keeper of the Lake. “What will you do now?”

“I…” He trailed off. “What will _you_ do?” G’raha turned it back on her.

“Me?” She met his gaze for a moment, deep purple eyes blinking. “I suppose…I am Warrior of Light, so I always have responsibilities…a new primal will get summon, or Garleans attack, or…well, who knows what?”

“But if you could choose?” Somehow, he _needed_ her to answer this. _Needed_ to know what she would do next. “If it was only up to you, what do you want to do?”

She paused. Her hand came up to her collarbone, grasping at something that wasn’t there. “I would want…I would want to travel, to see the world. As you said, ‘journey on the Eternal Wind, wherever it takes us.’”

G’raha’s breath caught in his throat—he didn’t realize she _remembered_ that. Or remembered _any_ of that night. “Well…yes, traveling wherever you want is a nice thought. I hope you do get to—”

“No, I mean,” Mara shook her head, turning back up to him. She took a step closer—he didn’t step back. “If…” She bit her lip for a moment, nervous. “If your destiny brought you here, maybe mine did too?”

He couldn’t breathe. “What—what are you saying?”

“If our destiny to meet then, maybe destiny also to…” Her cheeks were turning redder as she looked away again. “G’raha I want—if you want, I mean—you want to travel, to see things, yes? I could—I could take you with me.”

His heart was pounding in his ears. “You want me to come with you?” He breathed, unable to look anywhere but her—for if he did, he was afraid the spell would break.

She looked back up at him, deep purple eyes underneath dark lashes, gazing at him like he was the most precious thing in the world. “Yes. I think…maybe our destiny is to meet and…travel together. If…if that is something that you—”

“Yes,” he said before he could stop himself; it was a lie, he knew his destiny lay inside that cursed, infernal tower—but for now, in this moment, he could let himself believe. “Yes, I want—I want nothing more than to adventure together, at your side.”

The smile she gave him was brighter than the moon shining above. “G’raha—”

“Wait,” he cut her off, his hand reaching for her face. “If we’re alone, you can…” His hand cupped her cheek, thumb sliding over the cheekbones, the small patch of dark Xaela scales. “You can call me ‘Raha’.” Stardust sparkled beneath his fingertips as he touched her, every nerve on fire with the tension the hope that this finally might—

Her eyes widened, she sucked in a breath. “ _Raha_ …” She whispered. He remembered the day they met, when she had first accidentally said it and it had set him on edge, but now…

Now he had never heard such a beautiful word come from her mouth.

His thumb traced another circle on her cheek, before trailing back, brushing aside some of her dark midnight hair behind her horn. Her eyes were wide, staring up at him as the world narrowed down to his fingertips tracing her cheek, her jaw—her plush lips slightly open in surprise—his heart beating in rapture—

The star stopped spinning, the heavens stalled overhead as his fingers cupped her chin, tipping her head up to cover her mouth with his.

His other arm came to snake around her waist, pulling her closer as he felt the world shift—as if every star, every nebulae exploded at once, and then began to reform. Mara sighed into his mouth as her own arms came to wrap around his neck. Her fingers explored the twist of his braid, the soft crimson hair at the base, fingertips leaving embers in their wake. G’raha had never felt more _alive—_ electric as his whole body tingled in purest _joy_ —His tail wrapped around her legs, as if to pull her closer, closer, and her own tail, short as it was, caught on his, returning the gesture. G’raha thought his heart might beat right out of his chest, he might die here right on the spot—and yet, he wouldn’t have cared, wouldn’t have cared for anything except—

The kiss was rather chaste, and after a long time and no time at all they pulled away, foreheads resting against each other. Mara’s cheeks were that adorable pink again, with a giddy smile on her face, and G’raha only wished he could reciprocate.

For as soon as the moment was broken he remembered his heavy destiny on the morrow.

But he couldn’t—he couldn’t let her see the despair in his eyes—his heart. Pulling her close again, her head slotting under his chin, he placed a soft kiss on her forehead.

He held her for as long as he could, trying to memorize her scent (old parchment and jasmine flowers and a fragrant, exotic Eastern spice), her warmth; his fingers gently caressed her hair, occasionally placing kisses on top of her head, all the while willing himself to keep the tears at bay as the reality stabbed into his heart over and over again.

And more than that—this one act of selfishness, of comfort—it would hurt her far more than him.

 _I’m sorry,_ he thought, as a few loose tears escaped his crimson eyes, dropping onto her midnight blue hair. His ears pinned back as his eyes shut tight—his hands trembling as he held her— _I’m so sorry, my love…_

_If only I could share that destiny with you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a companion piece/second ending to this chapter posted in the third chapter of [The Color of Midnight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27948323/chapters/69271530) if you want to see Mara's thoughts on the kiss.
> 
> If you like this fic, then join our [bookclub](https://discord.gg/enabling-debauched-xivfic) for more fic and general debauchery.


	10. Dusk and Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The future is where my destiny awaits..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone who gave me such encouragement while working on this fic, particuarly the good people at the [bookclub](https://discord.gg/enabling-debauched-xivfic) who have cheered me on these last couple of chapters. 
> 
> The story will continue in a series of oneshots posted in [The Color of Midnight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27948323/chapters/68447477c) and [Journeys in Othard](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28212039/chapters/69131883) for the Stormblood ones. A future longfic following the Shadowbringers storyline will be up soon, so look out for it!
> 
> Thanks everyone for all the support, now enjoy the final chapter!

As a Seeker, G’raha had been taught to revere the sun—for Azeyma smiled down on her people, guiding them to hunt, to live in the light of day.

But today he _loathed_ the sun as it rose, low over Silvertear Lake.

He hadn’t been able to sleep at all; sometime late in the night, he and Mara had regretfully separated. _Gods_ , she was so giddy, so happy after that moment by the lakeshore; it near cleaved his heart in two to see it. _She did feel the same way_ , he thought, anguished as they walked back to the camp, hand in hand. _She did feel the same way and I…I never thought to approach until now._

He was such a fool.

But despite the despair, he couldn’t show it. He bid her a chaste goodbye, with a kiss on her hand, like a knight to his lady. She had blushed fiercely at that, and with another giggle, gave him a final goodnight, walking inside her tent.

As soon as she was gone, his forced smile fell.

He had gone back to his tent, and lay on his cot, staring up at the ceiling for the rest of the night.

He was such an idiot, he should’ve never gone to her—never gave in to his desperate dreams—for even if she felt the same way, he should’ve just—

 _Lips meeting under purest starlight. Her fingers tangling in his hair as he pulled her close—not close enough. A joyous rapture, his heart singing in bliss now that finally, finally…she was_ his.

His eyes threatened to well up with tears again as he thought on it. A day ago he would’ve been drowning in happiness if such a thing had occurred—now all that happiness turned sour, churning his stomach in agony.

 _This is only going to hurt her in the end_.

G’raha remembered her words, the things she had confessed to him—only to him—

_“You can’t save everyone, Mara. Especially those that do not want to be saved.”_

_“I am the Warrior of Light? Should I not?”_

Just yesterday, he sensed her melancholy over the fate of Unei and Doga. _“You cannot blame yourself when it’s not what they wanted.”_

And yet, she still did blame herself. And would probably continue to do so.

Clenching his teeth, G’raha’s hand curled into a fist, his nails biting into his palm.

He should’ve never left his tent, never surrendered to his feelings. It would’ve been better if he acted coldly, surreptitiously pushing her away. If she thought he didn’t care for her, maybe it would be easier for her to let him go.

But now…

Despite his whole body fighting him, wishing he could stay in that cot forever and never walk to his fate, G’raha forced himself to get up. It was still early; he had to do this _now_ before she woke. Before—

_Before I cause her any more harm._

It would wound her, aye, but much less if he didn’t have to force her to watch—didn’t have to hear her beg him to stay—

 _Am I doing this for me, or for her?_ He wondered, pulling on his boots.

Tying his hair back in a braid, he took a look at the shattered mirror that lay in the bottom of his trunk—a hundred Allagan Eyes stared back at him, demanding his subservience. He glared, turning away. _Don’t worry_ , he told the Ancients, _You will get your wish soon enough…_

He glanced one final time around his tent; there was nothing here left to take; he would need nothing going into his long sleep. He cast a glance to his writing desk, where his sealed letters lay. One to Krile—He hoped she had it in her to forgive him, but he doubted it. One to his mother—this would hurt her even more than anything he had ever done, he was truly the worst son in the world. And one for…

His hands reached out, curled around the envelope addressed to Mara.

He had written the letter before their time at Silvertear Lake. Foolish as it was, once he started writing, he couldn’t stop; he had poured his heart out to her, his _love_ out to her, wishing only for her happiness and promising to watch over her, always. Before that moment on the lakeshore, it was an acceptable, though love-filled letter, confessing his feelings but making sure to take a step back—let her know in no uncertain terms that he expected— _needed_ her to move on.

Now, however…

He swallowed down that lump in his throat.

When she awoke and realized what he had done, it would be painful for her. She might cry, she might scream. She might curse his name to the heavens, might bang on the tower doors and beg him to come back—he had seen a small drop to the depths her grief could go, that day at the top of the tower. He couldn’t imagine how much pain she might be in when she knew he was gone, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

And that was all _before_ he had kissed her, all but confessed his feelings as he held her late into the night.

Their first kiss, their _last_ kiss had been a beautiful, rapturous thing but it would only serve to make it harder.

It would _destroy_ her.

He sighed, glancing once more out the tent flap. The sun was rising higher, warning him his time was short. Unsure still, G’raha pocketed that letter, and headed for the camp.

It was still early; there was no usual crowd around the fire pit as breakfast was being made. Cid was already there, starting up the boilmaster to prepare the morning coffee. Cid turned, saw him approach. “You’re up early,” he said. G’raha’s ears perked up. Was he saying that in genuine interest or…did he know something?

His heart gave a steady thump, but he did not let it show on his face. “We need to seal the tower today,” he said at once. “Preparations need to be made.”

“Hmm,” Cid said by way of acknowledgement, pressing another few buttons on the boilmaster. “Well, help me stoke the fire then. It’s a bit windy today; keeps putting it out.”

G’raha nodded, sitting down near the fire pit. He was stalling, delaying—but who could blame him? Who could blame him for wanting a few last moments out here, in the fresh air? Fighting down that anxiousness that was welling up in his stomach, he grabbed a nearby stick and poked at the fire. The embers grew, the fire coming to life.

The letter burned a hole in his pocket.

G’raha glanced back at Cid. The man was thoroughly engrossed in whatever trouble the boilmaster was giving him, cursing at it as he fiddled with the buttons. Slowly, G’raha placed a hand over his pocket, where his last letter lay.

_Mara,_

_I know naught what to say but—_

_This time I spent with you, it has been the happiest days of my life._

He had gone on, begged her to live her life without him and all that, not to blame herself for what happened, but it was there, plain on the page as he confessed his whole heart.

_Mara…_

_I love you._

_Wherever you are, know that I am watching over you, for in the tower there will always be someone who loves you._

His fingers curled as he felt the page beneath it, like claws digging in.

No, it was too much.

It was best if she thought the kiss was just him looking for comfort, nothing more—it was best she never thought on him at all!

Taking the letter in hand, he crumpled it up, throwing it into the fire.

He got up while Cid continued to fiddle with some levers. “I’m off to get started,” said G’raha, walking past him. “I shan’t need any help; don’t ignore your breakfast for my sake.”

Cid gave some mumbled assent, smacking the contraption on the lid. With a heavy heart, one last look at Cid, the camp, Silvertear Lake and the Keeper of the Lake staring him down, G’raha turned on his heel, and took the long walk to the Crystal Tower.

_~~~~~_

There was a beauty in silence.

The inside of the Crystal Tower shimmered in the low light; light blue crystal spires rimmed with gold sparkled in a way that still took his breath away. But instead of staring in awe like had days prior, now G’raha could feel it; the rumblings of power, the aether surging within. A pulse, again and again, like blood being pumped through veins—

The heartbeat of the tower.

He could sense it now, that gentle hum of aether. The Tower welcomed him like an old friend, a lost companion. It recognized him as its master.

G’raha leaned a hand on the crystal walls, feeling the thrum throughout his body. If this place was to become his home—his tomb—he could think of worse places.

As soon as the doors were closed, sealed, he would begin the process to put the tower into slumber. He hoped it would be a peaceful, dreamless sleep. For if he had dreams, he knew what they would be of…

He sighed, closing his eyes, resting his head against the crystal. If he thought of it, he could still feel the ghost of that kiss on his lips. He hoped he never forgot that feeling, no matter how many long years awaited until he awoke. For he knew he would wake with but one name on his lips—hers.

Last night had been a single kiss, but it could’ve been so much more…perhaps he had wanted more. But Mara had not offered. His own fantasies had been left unfulfilled, for the most part. But if she had acquiesced to his deeper desires, had she invited him into her tent, would he have gone?

He knew the answer. He wouldn’t have been able to resist.

 _For once, I am lucky in that nothing more happened._ For if he had taken her, had marked her body as his, he _knew_ he’d never be able to leave her side.

But just a kiss would allow them to part—no matter how painful it was.

Turning away, he looked back up to the steps, those steps leading the way up, up, to the throne at the top of the tower. Now, to begin the sealing sequence…he did not need to read any book for it, for he knew now—the Ancients drove his every move, would guide his hand. All he needed now was to stretch out, to call for the power in his blood, and—

His ears twitched backward, hearing noises. Footsteps. What? Who was here? _There shouldn’t be anyone—_

The footsteps—foot _falls_ , someone—many people running— “G’raha Tia!” a voice called out, and G’raha’s blood ran cold as he recognized it. _Cid._

If Cid was here, bringing others with him, that would mean…

He turned back to the door, wishing, praying to the gods that it wouldn’t—

_Old parchment, jasmine flowers, and a fragrant, Eastern spice._

His breath hitched in his throat, a cold sweat breaking over his neck. He felt dizzy, trembling in fear. _No…please…_ She was shadowed, her small form running up to the edge of those doors, out of breath. _Please don’t be—_

The gods had to forsake him, one last time.

Mara stopped before the great doors, panting, placing her hands on her knees—had they run all the way there from the Find? But when she looked up at him, her deep purple eyes staring into his striking crimson, he saw it—the _agony_ on her face. Those tears threatening to fall.

G’raha crushed his eyes shut, willing his own tears not to spill. _Whatever happens, don’t—don’t ask me to stay—_

But she said nothing, only stared at him—her teeth were clenching, her hand tightened over her collarbone, as if to grasp the pendant she had sold long ago—She hadn’t looked like this when Unei and Doga were taken. This was a thousand times worse.

Bile rose in his throat—his stomach churned—he felt so sick, so wracked with guilt and torment— _I’m sorry, I’m sorry…_

“G’raha Tia! What are you planning?” Cid demanded, stepping closer to the great Syrcus Tower doors, but not crossing them. “You ordered everybody out, did you not? We thought you were going to seal the tower—”

He swallowed the lump in his throat, forcing himself to look back at Cid— _only_ at Cid. “I am going to seal the tower. I merely wish that you not get caught up in the process—”

“You’re a terrible liar, G’raha.” Cid said, his grey eyes narrowing. “Now I’ll ask you again, what are you planning?”

G’raha’s breath caught in his throat—Mara’s eyes met his. He could almost hear her thoughts, _Tell me this isn’t what I think it is! Tell me everything will be all right!_

But he couldn’t—Nothing would ever be all right.

Slowly, he began, “Not all Allagans perished in Xande’s calamity. The Crystal Tower was nowhere to be seen, but the survivors hoped that one day, they would see it’s spire again; it would rise as a beacon of hope to all mankind. The last of the Allagan royal bloodline heard this wish; she entrusted her blood and memories to the man she trusted most; my ancestor. My blood has awakened me to the will of the Ancients, to the wish I must grant.”

Cid folded his arms, glancing up at the large doors that stood ominously between them. “And that is?”

“That when the time is right; when mankind has the technology to use the tower as they should, that the tower _will_ shine forth as a beacon of hope.” He swallowed, kept his eyes on the shining, shimmering, crystal floor. “But it cannot be done without someone possessed of the Royal Eye. My blood alone was not enough. Only with Unei and Doga’s power do I have the strength to grant their wish…” He trailed off, hands clenching and unclenching as he spoke. “It will be hundreds, maybe thousands of years before mankind has the kind of technology to rival the Allagans at their height. And when the time comes…someone will have to be there to guide them.”

“What are you saying?” Cid said, concern filling the catch in his voice. “Are you saying that you—”

G’raha’s ears fell back almost as far as they would go. He could see them putting it together in their minds. But the worst thing, the very _worst_ thing was the small gasp Mara made as she figured it out.

His hands shook as he shut his eyes tight, willing himself to say the words. “It’s the only way. I must put the tower into a deep sleep as Amon did. When man has the technology to open the gates, I will be here to guide them—to help them use this tower for the good of mankind.”

 _“No!”_ She cried out—G’raha eyes popped open and he looked at her, he couldn’t help it—tears streamed down her cheeks, her whole body trembled. “That’s not—you can’t—!” Biggs and Wedge turned to her now, alarmed. Cid himself was staring, mouth wide in shock, as if realizing for the first time the depth of her sorrow—her feelings.

G’raha couldn’t hold it back any longer; wetness burst in the corner of his crimson eyes. “I must!” His voice cracked on the words. “I have—I _have_ to do this. It is my destiny, don’t you see? The future…the future is where my destiny awaits.”

“But what about,” she sobbed, “What about _our_ destiny?”

G’raha sucked in a breath. He knew of what she spoke. Those words she had asked him the night before as they stood before Silvertear Lake. _“Maybe our destiny was to meet, and travel together…”_ To stay together, always…it was a nice dream…

But reality was not so kind.

He didn’t want to acknowledge it, not in front of Cid and the others…though it might’ve already shown on his face. “Your destiny will be to continue on, to a brighter future. Your deeds, your heroism will be the star that I will chart my course when I awake.”

“Yes, we’ll…we’ll find that brighter future!” Wedge cast a worried, sidelong glance at Mara as he said it.

Biggs nodded, “Just watch, we will find a way to open the doors, sooner than you think!”

G’raha gulped down the salty tears that he kept from falling. “Thank you. I hope that—” His ears flicked as he heard her speak once more,

“Don’t do this, Raha, please…” Mara said in such a small voice, he barely heard her. She was hunched over, holding herself like a child begging for comfort. Those dark purple eyes, so tortured, bursting with tears— _Gods, I can’t—_ His heart was skewered in his chest, twisting and turning in misery. “Don’t leave me alone!”

It was as if Cid, Biggs, Wedge had melted away. It was just the two of them, standing on the opposite sides of a precipice…and he would be the one who would have to walk way. “Don’t ask me this,” He choked on it, his heart shattering in pain. “Please just…just _let me go._ This is what I want, Mara!” _But I wanted—I wanted to share my life with you…_

She cried out like a wounded animal, violet eyes wide and leaking tears, shaking her head in horror. And then he saw it, the way she straightened her back, moved one foot in front of the other—

Pure, blind _panic_ raced through him, down his spine. “Hold her back, Cid!” G’raha yelled as Mara tried to leap forward—Cid moved faster than G’raha thought possible, catching her arm and pulling her back. “ _No!_ ” She shrieked, beating her fists against Cid’s arms as he held her firm, crushed her back against him. She was the Warrior of Light, she held the power of the Ancients, of primals in the palm of her hand—and yet she didn’t think to use any of that, just continued to push and try to wriggle free with hands and feet. “ _Don’t let him—!”_

Hot tears burst from his eyes watching the depths of her despair. “I’m sorry,” his voice cracked; sobbed. “I’m so sorry…I wish …” He said weakly as she continued to fight—continued to weep.

He looked at his friends, his companions one last time. Cid shut his eyes tight, still holding Mara as she tried to push herself away. Biggs looked on, sadness etched on his face at the final farewell. Wedge was now nearly in tears, no longer the hopeful look he had mustered before.

“Farewell, my friends,” He managed to squeak out, voice wavering. “I…” He wanted to say something more, something to Mara, but he could not…now, at the end, there was nothing at all that could be said…

Nothing that could relieve the pain.

With a sigh, he shut his eyes, squeezing out the last few tears, and raised his hand to close the door. He started walking away as he heard the mechanism whirr.

 _“Wait!”_ Mara cried out, one last time. Her voice stunned him on the spot. Just one more look, just _one last look_ —He turned—there she was, still fighting against Cid. Midnight blue hair whipping about her face as she struggled, sticking into the tear tracks on her cheeks. She raised a grasping hand towards him, as if to pull him back again. _“Raha!”_ She screamed—

The doors slammed shut.

And then there was silence.

G’raha let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Two more hot tears trickled down his cheeks. He stepped forward, his footsteps echoing off the walls. He raised a shaking hand, placing it on the now-closed doors. They felt cold, hard, unforgiving.

His hand contracted into a fist—he leaned his head against the doors, the metal cold as ice against his forehead, and then he let out a long, anguished sob. He didn’t know how long he was there, weeping in guilt—in misery—in agony. But it didn’t matter. Time had no meaning for him, anymore.

_Forgive me, Mara, I wanted to travel with you, be with you, as long as you allowed me…But you have to go on. Life your life, for me. See the world, find love again; maybe settle down, have a family of your own. Just, please, my love…_

_Forget me._

_Though, however many eons pass, I will never forget you._

For they were children of sun and moon; night and day, dusk and dawn.

And like the dusk and dawn, they were destined to be apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a sort-of epilogue to this story posted over in chapter 4 of [The Color of Midnight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27948323/chapters/69465885).
> 
> If you are interested in reading more ffxiv fic, join our [bookclub](https://discord.gg/enabling-debauched-xivfic).


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